


A Crack in the Mask

by attfna



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: AFTG Mixtape Exchange 2021, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Andreil, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blow Jobs, Coping, Grief/Mourning, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of medication, Sexual Content, Smoking, Temporary Amnesia, Underage Drinking, but he's alive, canon referenced rape, i mean it's still pretty fucking dark and angsty, mentions of canon non-consensual drugging, mentions of scars, no he's not actually dead calm down, post-Baltimore, references to suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:27:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28973586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/attfna/pseuds/attfna
Summary: Neil was never recovered from Baltimore and nine months later some can't move past the chaos he left behind.~*~AFTG Mixtape gift for Leahelisabeth. They wanted something based on the song ‘Liar’ by The Arcadian Wild. Lyrics are posted with the chapters. Please check the tags before reading, thanks!~*~All credit to Nora, I own nothing
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 46
Kudos: 201
Collections: AFTG Mixtape Exchange 2021





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Leahelisabeth (fortheloveofcamelot)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortheloveofcamelot/gifts).



_November, Thanksgiving._

White-gray spirals of smoke coiled around Andrew’s bruised knuckles as he held his cigarette loosely between two fingers. Such a waste. He’d only taken two drags of the thing since he’d come outside, unable to deal with Kevin’s obsessive ranting and Nicky’s cheerful banter egging him on. 

By anyone else's standards it had been a good day. It was Thanksgiving – which Andrew didn’t give a flying fuck about, but the day itself had been uneventful. Nicky insisted they stick together for the ‘holiday’ and while Andrew wanted to pretend it wasn’t holiday at all, he eventually succumbed to his cousins plans since he’d toned them down enough that they were minimally invasive. He could see Nicky, and Aaron as well, were struggling. Too many things happened over the last year and their previous Thanksgiving had been something out of a nightmare. He knew they were desperately searching to find some _normalcy_ in the darkness, for whatever it was worth. It was pointless, he thought. Nothing was normal, if it had ever been. And it wouldn’t be normal again no matter how hard they tried to force it. 

Nicky ordered food. Andrew and Aaron were both passably decent at cooking but refused to step foot in the kitchen. Instead, their enthusiastic cousin came home at noon laden with several large bags from a local restaurant. They ate mediocre turkey and stuffing, cranberry sauce and sweet potatoes – he'd even picked up two whole pies, one of which Andrew promptly claimed for himself under pain of death to anyone who touched it. Kevin spent most of the dinner whining about the lack of green vegetables and Aaron spent the meal texting Katelyn between bites. Only Nicky tried to keep the conversation going, though he failed miserably. 

The cheerleader arrived at five o’clock to retrieve Aaron. She insisted he come to her family's house for their belated Thanksgiving that Friday and since it was a four-hour drive, they wanted to get there the night before. Andrew still didn’t like her but after Aaron’s trial, after everything that happened, he didn’t have the energy to hold him to their promise anymore. There was no reason to expect anyone else to hold up their end of the deal. They never did. But he would keep his promises – he would get them all through college in one piece. He wouldn’t fail again even if all they did was make it difficult for him to succeed. Made it so he wanted nothing more than to walk away. One day, he would. 

A clump of ash dislodged in the chilly November air and fell to the grass below the deck. Andrew heaved a sigh and irritably ground out the stick on the wooden railing, flicking the butt to the wind and didn’t bother to watch where it landed. He turned his hands over and squeezed them to fists. When he opened them again, it was one finger at a time. One, two, three four five...six, seven, eight, nine......Neil had been gone for nine months. His brain still refused to supply the word ‘dead’ even though it shuffled around in the back of his mind like an ice cream man waving a half-melted confection at him as a child; taunting him. 

Nine months. Nine months since Wymack had driven them all to Baltimore and they sat in a sterile white room around a heavy conference table and waited for something, anything about their missing teammate. Nine months since a pair of bloody court keys and a red-stained hoodie, nearly ripped to shreds, was tossed on the table and they were interrogated like they were the criminals. Nine months since they’d returned to Palmetto, one striker short. And Nine months since they’d received a call that declared Neil dead – that the blood found at the crime scene in his father's basement was enough ‘proof’ to strike his existence from the earth. 

_“What about the body?” Allison had asked. “You can’t just say he’s dead when you don’t have a body.”_

She received a few nods of agreement but by May the team had lost hope. 

Just prior to Palmetto’s graduation, they held a memorial of sorts – turned Neil’s locker into some sort of grave. They posted pictures, tacked notes to it with tape and it was always left propped-open with a few of his belongings still inside. Andrew moved his own things to a locker to the other side of the room so he didn’t have to look at it. _‘We miss you, Neil,’_ some of the notes said, despite the team having learned the truth. The truth about _Nathaniel_ _Wesninski_ . Andrew made sure to choke the answers from Kevin upon finding Neil’s missing bag and racquet and his phone with a mysterious countdown. After finding his keys to the Columbia house, his dorm, and the Maserati left discarded in the bottom of the bag – something Andrew was sure he never would have parted with willingly. By the time the FBI sat them down theyknew the truth and none of them said a word. The Foxes were nothing if not loyal. 

_“Thank you, you were amazing.”_

Amber liquid sloshed in its container as Andrew took another hefty swig of cheap whisky. He let out a sort of barking laugh as he swiped the back of his hand over his mouth, the neck of the bottle still clamped between his fingers. _You idiot,_ he thought. It hadn’t taken long for Andrew to figure it out – the veiled goodbye, the discarded gym bag and perplexing numbers in an old phone that counted down to the Binghamton game. But he’d still been too slow. And now Neil was gone and everything was shit. It had always been shit. It had always been.... 

“A pipe dream...” murmured Andrew. 

He took another gulp of whisky and turned to head back inside where it was warm. Not that it mattered. Andrew felt like he carried the cold with him wherever he went. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise it gets better! The first full chapter will go up later today and I'll post the others a day apart.


	2. State of Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrew feels like he's losing his mind over a ghost and across the pond, Abram Herring struggles with his missing memories. 
> 
> ~*~
> 
> All credit to Nora, I own nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANGST ANGST ANGST
> 
> ~*~
> 
> CHAPTER RATING: T (Mentions of cutting, vague mention of suicidal ideation, getting black out drunk, starting fires, mentions of torture and Mary's death, mentions of Andrew's medications, unhealthy coping, scars)

_I sense there’s trouble ahead,_   
_It’s clear by the signs and warnings._   
_That should tell where all blame is due,_   
_So why are they pointing at my head?_   
_All have been led astray,_   
_We’ve all fallen short in some way._   
_Please understand I’m ashamed,_   
_I beg of you, please find your grace._

_ October, one month earlier, Brighton, England. _

The metal bleachers were cold through the thin denim of his slacks and finally Abram shoved the newspaper he had been attempting to read back into his backpack. It was too windy to bother with anyways, he’d barely made it past the front page – the headline something about Ichirou Moriyama, the new CEO of Moriyama Enterprises since his father’s passing months before, opening a second headquarters for their international trading company in Dubai. He’d only snagged the newspaper from the stand near the canteen because his laptop had died hours ago and he needed something to kill time before practice. 

Not that he would be doing any practicing. Brighton University didn’t have an  Exy team. The school did have a decent lacrosse team and Abram found himself wandering towards the field every Thursday between classes to watch their practice. 

Moriyama, Abram thought. There was a time he had been obsessed with following Kevin Day and Riko Moriyama’s progress and debut into collegiate and professional  Exy , playing with the US Court before their freshman year with the Ravens. He had a whole binder dedicated to them somewhere in the world and shuddered, not for the first time, thinking about what may have happened to it. 

It had been eight months now, since Abram had woken in a make-shift hospital room in one of his  uncle's properties, and six since he’d recovered enough from his injuries to be shipped off to Brighton. Well, his physical injuries at least. He was still missing a substantial chunk of time. Almost two years. It was jarring – to have been woken from a coma, according to the private physician who had been there when he came to, with dozens of new scars and to be told he was nineteen and had been found in his father's basement – his father who was now dead. 

According to his uncle, ‘Nathaniel’ had been in the right place at the right time, from his point of view at least, and that he was found in the basement of the house in Baltimore where his father had clearly tortured him. While he left the mobster’s bodies for the American authorities to sift though, he took Nathaniel back to a safe-house and had him patched up and transported to England. No one knew if he would wake but about a month later his eyes cracked  open and his uncle swore to keep him safe. He’d given him a new name – Abram Herring. Herring because it was one of his  uncle's aliases and Abram because it was the one name he couldn’t let go of. He couldn’t even properly remember the last name he’d been. Stefan...or maybe Chris? It had taken days after waking up to be able to think clearly enough to try and sort through his memories. 

When he concentrated, he could hear his mother gasping for breath, smell the metallic scent of blood and could feel his eyes water with the heat and gasoline as he burned her bones on a black sand beach. But after that everything was hazy. He got flashes,  every once in a while , usually something insignificant or so fleeting he couldn’t make sense of it. He had dreams he could never remember by morning. And sometimes he had nightmares. He’d prodded his uncle for information and found him to have none. Apparently, they hadn’t kept in contact. He told his uncle of his mother’s death but in return no one could tell him what the hell he had been doing for the last two years. Why he was nineteen instead of seventeen or how he ended up with his father in the first place. Had he given up? Running had always been so exhausting and there was never an end in sight. Or did he just get sloppy after his mother’s death? A more likely scenario.

When searching his brain, and sometimes the internet – googling any of his aliases he could remember and sometimes himself, nothing helpful ever turned up. According to his uncle and news reports Nathaniel  Wesninski was dead, killed by his father, and that suited him just fine. It meant no one was looking for him anymore. It was the only reason he’d allowed his uncle to stash him in some cottage in the middle of nowhere and had stayed there for half a year without considering trying to leave. There was always the risk that at some point he would be expected to repay his uncle – to offer his services, whatever they may be, to the ‘ _ family business _ ’ which seemed to be still flourishing despite Abrams very adamant vocalizations that he wanted nothing to do with it. For now, at least, Stuart had respected that. He let Abram stay in one of his unused properties, forged paperwork to enroll him in the university as a second-year student, bought him a car he never used in case he wanted to visit in London. 

_ “You’ll be twenty, yes? I’ll get together some paperwork. We’ll enroll you at the local university as a second-year student. That will buy you some time to decide what you want.” _

And so, when September came, Abram enrolled in school as an applied mathematics major (with a minor in French to make it easier on himself) and resumed the motions of being a real-fake person. 

The click of expensive brogues against the hollow metal made Abram straighten but not flinch. He’d seen someone climb the steps at the opposite end from his  peripheral vision, brown contacts matching sandy brown hair, straining to look. He might be ‘free ’ but his uncle insisted he make himself as plain as possible in case any of his  fathers surviving lackeys were looking for revenge. 

Stuart made a show of brushing off the dusty bench before sitting, leaving a few feet between them. 

“A bit cold to be sitting outside, isn’t it?” asked the older man, eyes scrutinizing the green and white clad players running around the field. 

“I’m fine. The canteens too crowded this time of day,” answered Abram, his British accent still a bit rusty but passable at least. 

Stuart hummed and pulled his tan trench coat around him, digging a flat metal container from one of the pockets. He pulled out a hand-rolled cigarette and Abram held his hand out expectantly. Stuart sighed but let him take one and handed over the expensive looking zippo after lighting his own. 

“These things will kill you, you know,” offered Stuart. 

Abram shrugged. “Probably not before something else.”

He took a drag to keep it burning in the wind but mostly kept it held close to his face, propping his elbow on his knee to keep it at chin level. 

“Did you come all the way to Brighton so I could steal your  smokes? Because I like them but can buy my own from the shop.”

Stuart smiled around the stick and plucked it from his mouth. “I came to let you know I’ll be in Brussels for a few weeks. If you need anything urgently you’ll have to call Maeve or Feldman.”

Abram took another small drag as the cherry faded. “You couldn’t have told me that over the phone?”

Taking a final puff, Stuart tossed the butt aside and reached in his pocket again, this time retrieving something white and made of paper. Abram tossed his own cigarette and reached to take the envelope, opening it. Inside were two tickets London EC versus Cambridge South. 

“ Exy tickets?” asked Abram, head turning to shoot his uncle a confused look. 

“You said you missed it, if I remember correctly.”

He did say  that, sort of. The conversation in question had been more than a month ago. Stuart came to check on him – something he only did around once a month since so far Abram hadn’t bothered to use the car to visit in London. He’d been sitting around the computer watching news anchors recap a pro-game in the states. 

_ “I think I played  _ _ Exy _ _...” he mused idly, forgetting Stuart was just a few feet away, making a pot of tea on the stove.  _

_ “Oh yes. Your mother mentioned you played when you were a lad. It was your favorite sport if I recall.” _

_ Abram jumped a little at the sound of his  _ _ uncles _ _ voice – it was so rare that anyone else was in the house with him that he’d forgotten he was there. He shook his head.  _

_ “No....I think I played more recently....”  _

_ But that didn’t make sense, he thought. Why on earth would he have played  _ _ Exy _ _? His mother never would have allowed that. But still...he been having dreams for months and even though he couldn’t remember most of them when he woke, he thought he could remember what it felt like to hold a racquet in his hands, to swing a ball at a goal. Which was even more ridiculous – he'd been a  _ _ backliner _ _ in little league and had never taken a shot on the goal.  _

_ “Oh?” Stuart asked idly, stirring lemon into his tea. “Thinking about joining up at school?” _

_ “Brighton only has a lacrosse team...” he said, a little too grumpily than he’d meant to.  _

_ “Well, that’s practically the same isn’t it?” Stuart smiled.  _

_ Abram scowled and closed the laptop nosily. He didn’t have the energy to fight his uncle on this  _ _ particular subject _ _.  _

Ever since that recollection Abram had spent most of his time delving back into the world of Exy. He took the time to learn the names of pro players in America and England and memorize their stats. He researched Kevin and Riko but found that almost two years prior Kevin had left the Ravens to join the Palmetto State Foxes after sustaining an injury to the hand. He found it strangely fascinating but reading the stats for the past years collegiate games fizzled his interest. The Foxes seemed to have done well for a little while but were booted for being undermanned towards the end of the season and Abram didn’t bother to check why. Predictably the Ravens, who for some reason had moved to the south-eastern district the prior year, once again beat the Trojans at NCAA championships. Typical. 

“Abram?”

He shook his head like a dog trying to clear  its ears of water, a habit he’d picked up over the months whenever he realized he was spacing out – which was often. 

“Sorry, what?”

“I just asked if you wanted to go. If not I can pass them off to...”

“No!” he said quickly. “I. ..I want to go. I think.”

“Splendid,” said Stuart, standing up once again. 

Abram stood as well, picking up his backpack. 

“I’ll send you the details when I return. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call Feldman. I pay him far too much for him to do so little.”

Abram huffed a laugh. “You can send him back to London you know, I don’t need a babysitter here.”

“He said you set the stove on fire last week.”

“It’s an old stove! I keep telling you to replace it....”

“And it had nothing to do with the hand-towel you left too close to the burner?”

Abram rolled his eyes, shifting the strap of his backpack to the other shoulder. “Feldman should mind his business. See if I invite him in for dinner again.”

Stuart smiled, almost fondly, and clamped a hand on Abram’s shoulder briefly. 

“Whatever you say, Nephew. Just try not to burn the cottage down before I get back.”

🔑

_ Thanksgiving, London, England.  _

When Thanksgiving arrived, Abram found himself riding shotgun in his uncles Aston Martin Volante, the obnoxious red sports car he only drove on the weekends or around London. He’d offered to meet his uncle at the  game but Stuart insisted they grab an early dinner  beforehand and he would take them. It was an awkward affair filled with silence and wine Abram hadn’t acquired a taste for. Luckily, Stuart never pushed – not even when Abram refused to talk about his time gallivanting across the globe with his mother when they were on the run. He would still take the tense silences over having to rehash his tumultuous childhood any day. He’d allowed some interrogation when he’d first woken in exchange for getting answers of his own more easily, but since then he’d been resolutely tight-lipped.

By the time they arrived at the gate Abram was practically vibrating. He’d never been to a pro-game before. Or, well, an exhibition game with pro-teams. The pro-Exy season didn’t begin until February but often around the holidays pro-teams would play exhibition matches for publicity and make a big deal about which charity they would donate to. It was the same in the US. 

They made their way down and Abram was a little shocked his uncle hadn’t purchased a VIP box. He didn’t seem the type that would enjoy rubbing elbows with over-stimulated sports fans from a sticky, plastic stadium seat. But down they went, until they walked into a roped off section right behind the inner court where the London  Exy Club team was huddled  up with their coach, already finished with their pre-game drills. 

“These are good seats...” said Abram, leaning forward to look down at the players. 

“I thought you might want to be in the thick of it instead of spirited away to the VIP section.”

Abram hummed his agreement and took in the sight. The court walls were polished and clear, the lights around him positioned in a way that they lit up the shiny court but didn’t glare off the  plexi -glass. There weren’t any cheerleaders, which Abram found off, but when he wracked his  memory he couldn’t recall any of the English teams having cheerleaders in the games he’d watched on tv. Maybe it wasn’t a thing here. 

“How are your studies going?” Stuart asked, his long fingers tapping away on his knee. 

He wasn’t looking at Abram, his green eyes bounced across the court and the  crowd but Abram knew his attention was still present. 

“Um. Fine. I guess.”

“Good,” nodded Stuart. “Sticking with mathematics, eh?”

Abram quirked a brow. His uncle hadn’t shown much interest in his university studies even though he sent the school a check each semester. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously but kept them trained forward. 

“I like math. It makes sense.”

Stuart leaned back, putting his hands behind his head in a manner that was meant to look casual. “Indeed. I’m sure it will be useful to find a job once you graduate.”

“Stop.”

“Pardon?”

Abram leveled him with a flat glare. “I already told you I’m not coming to work for you. If you don’t want to pay for school then fine, but I’m not working for the  Hatfords .”

“Abram...I do have several legitimate businesses,” he said heavily, turning to look at his nephew. “I already told you I won’t bring you into the family business. It’s what your mother would want. But you don’t have to disappear again. You don’t have to be alone. Just, think it over.”

He opened his mouth to retort but the warning buzzer  sounded and the doors slammed open so players could flood the court from both sides. Abram turned his attention back to the floor. Now he understood his  uncles' reason behind trying to butter him up with  Exy tickets. But he refused to let  shop-talk ruin the night. He still had years until he would graduate and  make a decision about his future – which he might now have, apparently. Tonight, there was only  Exy .

🔑

_ Thanksgiving, Columbia, South Carolina. _

Four thousand miles and an ocean away, Kevin Day flipped restlessly between channels. The local networks were all running highlight reels until it was time for the Sirens versus Cannonballs game to air live at 7. It was only four so currently his attention was on EXY-ESPN, where an exhibition match in England was being aired. There were only fifteen minutes left in the game since it was already  nine-o'clock across the pond. Kevin watched it with mild interest, though he’d never much cared about the pro-teams in other countries unless it was their national team that he might face one day with the US Court. 

Just as the Cambridge goalkeeper twisted his body in a rather impressive block the camera panned through the stands to show the roaring crowd. Kevin slipped off the chair and kneeled in front of the tv, squinting at the fans in the stands. 

“Kevin?” asked Nicky, looking up from where he was texting on the couch. “What’s up?”

It was gone just as soon as it had come, the replay of the save now taking up the screen. Kevin blinked several times. 

“It’s nothing,” he said quietly, pushing himself off the floor. “I’m getting another drink.”

Nicky shrugged and went back to his phone. Aaron was perched on the other end of the couch with a laptop balanced on his thighs while Andrew’s blond head was just visible, golden hair glinting off the porch light outside as he smoked. 

It was nothing really. His mind was just playing tricks on him. Besty said it might happen – that they might see Neil everywhere. It was logical. They missed him. Though why some random  Exy fan in Britain with a scarred face and brown hair would remind him of Neil, he couldn’t really say. 

Kevin paused at the entrance to the kitchen, his head craning back towards the front door. For a brief moment, he thought about telling Andrew what he saw. But the idea was just as fleeting as the small picture on the screen. His relationship with Andrew, not that it had ever been the pinnacle of stable, had not recovered after Neil’s death. The goalkeeper had barely spoken to him less than a couple dozen times since. Though that was more than he’d spoken to anyone else since they’d come back from Baltimore without their youngest striker. No, he would keep it to himself. 

🔑

Three days later the image of the man in the stands still hadn't left the back of Kevin’s mind. It niggled at him like an itch he couldn’t scratch. So much that he’d become anxious and jumpy, feeling like he carried some great secret on his shoulders. Finally, he looked up a recording of the game online. He paused the video on the image of the man in the stands, zoomed in until it was so  blurry he could barely make out the shape of a person. He looked....so familiar. The set of his jaw, the way his full attention was on the game below, the way his fists curled over his thighs. 

Kevin closed his laptop and made his way upstairs. He had to tell someone. He had to. 

At the top of the  stairs he  rapped his knuckles on Andrew’s door a few times, the twisting in his gut an equal mix of anxiety over his ‘secret’ and worry that Andrew would stab him or choke him for bothering him. He was about to call out Andrew’s name when the door pushed open from the light pressure of his hand, having not been latched all the way. Kevin pushed the door the rest of the way. The room was empty of any  person but the walls were so covered he nearly startled at the sight. He’d walked past Andrew’s open door only once before and recalled it being devoid of anything notable. But this was definitely the opposite. 

The walls were lined with paper – newspaper clippings, computer print outs, papers and forms. All about Nathaniel  Wesninski , his father, and the  Hatfords . Some even looked  official , like Neil’s papers and transcripts from Palmetto, his  Exy contract with the Foxes, police reports and a copy of his birth certificate. There were even files that looked like they were from the FBI about his parents. 

He didn’t realize he’d stepped further inside, staring up at everything for god knows how long, until he was thrown bodily from the room. He caught himself on the railing at the top of the stairs, looking back up to see the furious face Andrew Minyard in the door frame. 

“Andrew...”

“Never open this door again.”

Kevin winced as the door slammed in his face.  _ Shit. _

🔑

Andrew was obsessed and he knew it. He’d let Neil go and yet he couldn’t let him go. No one knew why or the extent of his obsession since he kept quiet about it, but he had a problem. Neil was a problem, like Andrew always knew he would be. And now Kevin knew he was losing his mind. Falling down the rabbit hole after his stupid rabbit. For months Andrew succumbed to the same thoughts as everyone else – that Neil was gone and wasn’t coming back. Everyone seemed to think so, except Reynolds and her stubbornness. Five months after he didn’t return the team Renee suggested they hold a proper funeral, something more official than the shrine they’d created around his locker. So, they could let go. Have ‘closure,’ whatever the fuck that meant. Reynolds had refused.  _ “I’m not going to another fucking funeral...I won’t. He’s not dead. They never found a body. You heard what Kevin said about his past. He’s out there somewhere, running.” _ Andrew admired her resolve and hated her for it at the same time because hearing someone else say he was alive made him want to hope. That’s when it started. The obsession. 

Andrew spent the rest of the afternoon after Kevin’s intrusion going over everything again. They would return to Palmetto the next day and though they’d been visiting Columbia every other weekend, he never felt he had enough time to solve the equation. 

He ran his fingers along one of the articles. Neils blood had been found at his father's Baltimore home, enough to rule him dead and not missing. Andrew had spent a hundred grand of Neils money following leads, tracking down anyone who knew anything and had come up with nothing. His search ended with the  Hatfords (Neils only known living relatives and the only people who might be powerful enough to protect him). They were an elusive  bunch and he hadn’t been able to get into contact with them and knew going to the  Moriyamas for anything was a poor idea after Kevin had told him about their connection to the Wesninskis’. So, he was stuck. 

He never imagined being without Neil would be difficult. But the moment his beat-up duffle had showed up along with his phone and the number ‘0’ with a Baltimore area code, his heart had broken. He hadn’t realized he still had one until that point, but there it was, bruised and cracked but still beating in his chest. Taunting him with its existence. He just felt hollow and even more dead inside than he had before. He would still get his family through school, protect Kevin until he graduated. But then what? Kevin said he would help him build a life but Andrew didn’t think he could keep playing Exy. Not when every time he held a racquet or pulled on his  jersey he was reminded of Neils stupid smiling face and overwhelming enthusiasm for the dumb sport he’d grown to despise even more. 

Two months earlier he’d stopped seeing Bee. He found he had nothing more to say. Aaron had noticed his silence but still no one managed to put it together that Neil meant more to him than he let on. No one except Renee who had somehow picked up on it. Reynolds looked at him sometimes, like she had a question in her  mind but she would never ask. She had been standing close enough the night he left to hear Neil’s last words to them. Words that haunted Andrew and sounded like the final confession of a dying man. Of someone marching to their death. Someone who didn’t plan to  _ stay _ . After he’d choked Kevin for answers, he learned that was the truth. Neil didn’t plan to stay. He planned to turn himself in at the end of the year and give up his father's secrets. But the FBI didn’t have Nathaniel or Neil. Andrew thought for a moment about witness protection but couldn’t see Neil agreeing. At the very least, once his father had been  killed he should have reemerged since there was no one hunting him anymore, other than the spoiled Moriyama brat. Even Riko had been quiet about Neil’s disappearance since he had no one to leak information to. But Neil remained  missing and Andrew remained a shell of a person. 

He knew Bee suspected something had happened between them. Andrew used to rant about Neil on end when he was hopped up on medication and manic, but since he’d been  sober the topic of Neil had been off limits. Whenever she mentioned him, Andrew became as evasive as possible. Bee had brought up his disappearance and how he was coping with that a few times but his refusal to talk about it eventually made her skirt the topic. Renee tried once during a sparring session, but Andrew had hit her, unable to contain his rage. She forgave him but hadn’t brought it up again. He wanted to apologize for hurting her afterwards but couldn’t find the words. So, Andrew stayed silent, only speaking when absolutely necessary. Going through the motions. He was barely alive. They all noticed but no one knew how to do anything about it. He wasn’t sure they really wanted to, if they could. And who could blame them, really? No one had ever known how to save Andrew Minyard. No one except Neil Josten.

Andrew pulled a bottle of whisky from the top of his dresser and drank. Drank until the words blurred and the face in his head was a hazy mess of blue and soft auburn and glaring orange and white. When the bottle was almost empty, he stood and threw it against the wall. It shattered in a spray of amber glass and liquid and ran down the walls, discoloring the papers tacked there. He ripped them down. All of them. He tore them off the walls, stepped on several tacks and glass pieces in the process, bloodying his feet and smearing red on the white carpet. He threw everything in a trash can and lit a match, tossing it in. The fire flared hot and flames licked the air, igniting quickly around the  alcohol-soaked pages. Luckily the trashcan was  metal but he was a pained, flushed mess when he sagged against the wall to watch it burn.

His mind was foggy, hazy with grief and anger and failure. He wasn’t in the state of mind to open a  window so the smoke detector beeped loudly a few minutes later as the room filled with smoke. He coughed a few times but didn’t bother trying to cover his mouth with anything to protect his airway and let his eyes water. He squeezed them shut, no longer able to watch the cleansing flames dance at the top of the can. And then he passed out.

Kevin, who was the only one home at the time, broke down the door with a few kicks to the knob. He opened a window and went to the bathroom down the hall, returning with a wet towel. Smothering the flames took no time at all and he curled his hands around the towels to pick up the can, carrying it to the tub to douse it with more cold water. When he  returned he shook Andrew, who didn’t wake at first. Another few, hard, shakes and Andrew woke up swinging, landing a surprisingly hard punch to Kevin’s gut. After blinking to full consciousness, Andrew pushed himself up against the wall. He muttered something, mostly unintelligible at first, words slurring. Eventually, Kevin backed off and watched him, hoping he hadn’t  drank too much or inhaled too much smoke. Andrew groped along the wall until he made it to his bed, falling face first into the pillows. Kevin had half a mind to roll him over so he wouldn’t suffocate, but after a few moments Andrew tipped onto his side. He closed his eyes and Kevin pulled a calendar off the wall and used it to fan the lingering smoke through the open window. Once he was  satisfied he filled a glass of water and left it by the bedside table. Andrew looked sweaty and his brow was creased even in sleep. He was still muttering. The only words Kevin could understand before the blond finally fell asleep was  _ ‘pipe dream’ _ . 

🔑

Andrew woke about four hours later and he was in his bed. The trashcan was gone, a charred ring left behind on the carpet that was now stained red in places. Black ash was also smeared into the fibers where bits of burned paper must have escaped. He also noticed his feet were bandaged and a glass of water had been placed on the end table. 

He pushed himself up and drank the water, coughing a little as he swallowed. His stomach flopped  uncomfortably and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten that drunk. 

When he could finally walk, he paused on the stop step, hearing voices downstairs. Abby and Wymack, along with Nicky and Aaron who were apparently home. Though they would be, by now. The clock on his nightstand had read 2:52am.

He could hear them talking about him.

Andrew stomped down the stairs nosily, ignoring their worrying looks. “I need to talk to Bee.”

Abby had opened her mouth to speak, probably ask questions, but he could see the moment she thought better of it. “We called her. She’ll be here in the morning. Do you need anything?”

He ignored her. Ignored all of them, going back to his room. He wondered if Kevin told them what was in the trash can. What he’d tried to burn away in his moment of weakness. Or perhaps a moment of strength. He didn’t think so. Kevin was afraid of him enough to keep his mouth shut.

Andrew dropped back on his bed, not bothering to change clothes or turn out the light. He draped his forearm over his eyes to block out the light. He wished it would block out more. 

🔑

When Andrew woke again it was early Sunday morning with a migraine. It was barely light outside. When Bee arrived at quarter to eight, he was still sitting on the porch. He’d gone through four cigarettes, only half smoking them before tossing them to the side. 

The psychiatrist brushed the butts away to sit next to him on the top step, keeping a couple feet between them. He appreciated that she didn’t ask him how he was, sitting for several long minutes in silence so he could adjust to her presence. 

“I want to go back on my medication,” said Andrew, his voice quiet and shaky, throat still a little raw from the smoke. But his words were concise.

Bee didn’t look at him, only crossed her hands over her lap. “Andrew ....no. You don’t.”

“I do,” he ground out, tossing a fifth cigarette down the stairs. “I need ..... Bee, I can’t do this.”

“What can’t you do, Andrew?” she asked, now turning a little to face him. She wore a small smile on her lips but he could see the worry in the lines of her brow, the flare of her nose. 

“This....I can’t ....I don’t want it anymore. I need to...” he trailed off again, gripping the pack of cigarettes so hard he probably crushed them.

“To what?” she asked, when he didn’t elaborate. 

Andrew turned to meet her gaze. “To not feel.”

“You didn’t feel when you were on the medication?” asked Bee. 

Andrew shook his head, hands finding their way to his hair. He pulled, sucking in a breath of frigid November air. 

“Not like this,” he said finally. “I have to get Kevin through graduation. Get Aaron and Nicky....I cannot...I don’t want any of it...”

Christ, what was wrong with him? He’d finally lost his mind. Neil had weaseled his way inside, carved out a space in Andrew’s chest and brain. And now there was  hole and it was growing wider. Eating through the space where logic and whatever small bits of sanity he had used to be. 

“What are you saying, Andrew?”

It was a long time before he spoke again. 

“I am saying...that he is  gone and I am here. But I don’t want to be.”

The honesty felt like a blow to the head. Like a gunshot, ripping him apart from the inside out. 

Bee shifted to pull down her skirt a little farther, hands brushing across the fabric of it, down past her knit tights. She pushed her glasses higher on her nose. “You’re talking about Neil.”

Andrew’s silence was enough to confirm her suspicions. 

“Andrew,” she continued. “Sometimes it’s hard to lose the ones we love. It can take a lot of time to...”

“I did not love Neil,” he spat quietly. 

“You cared about him,” she countered. 

Andrew’s eyes snapped up to Bee’s. “We had a deal. I made a promise and I failed him.”

“What did you promise him?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “That I would keep him safe until the end of the year.”

“Safe from what?” Bee asked. 

Silence. Heavy and thicker than the fog hovering over the suburban landscape in front of them. 

“Andrew, do you think Neil’s death is your fault?”

He flinched but remained silent, long enough to light another cigarette. It was crinkled from his manhandling of the package. The smoke from his mouth mingled with the fog until it was so entwined he couldn’t spot the separation between the two.

“Will you write the prescription or not?” he asked, taking another furious drag. 

“Or not,” Bee said quickly. “And you know why. If you want to talk about healthier coping  mechanisms I’m here for you. But I won’t treat you with anti-psychotics when you don’t need them. If you want to discuss this further and think you need something to help with the depression or  anxiety we can explore that possibility. There are medications out there that can be useful and won’t take you away from yourself. But honestly, Andrew, the way that you’re speaking now has me concerned and I don’t think I would be comfortable giving you a medication you might be able to abuse without further evaluation.”

His eyes flicked down to his  armbands, hidden under the black turtleneck he wore. The cigarette dangled between the fingers of his right  hand but he left moved unconsciously to scratch at his right forearm. He knew she wondered if he’d been cutting himself again. He thought about it. More than once, but never followed through. 

Andrew ground the cigarette out on the porch and turned to level her with a stare. He knew what she was implying. What he’d even been implying, though not explicitly. He wasn’t sure if he meant it but didn’t bother to take it back. 

She watched him stand and moved to get up herself. “I’ll go pick up some breakfast. We can talk more when I get back.”

“Go home, Bee,” he said, his tone losing  its bite and just coming out exhausted instead. 

“Andrew...”

“I will not tell you again,” he said darkly, finding enough strength for the words to sound like he meant them. “I don’t want you here.”

🔑

_ December, Palmetto, South Carolina. _

Christmas approached but Andrew was the farthest he could be from caring. He currently lay supine on his bunk, counting the fine cracks in the aging ceiling as he tuned out the rapidly increasing voices in the living room. At least, until he heard a familiar  name and someone drop something heavy on the floor. By the time he’d climbed down from the bed and approached the door he could hear them clearly. It seemed Kevin and Nicky were having a whispered fight that could no longer be considered quiet. 

“I see him all the time, Kevin!” Nicky hissed from the other side of the door. “But he’d gone! Neil is dead. You just don’t want to face it. Neither do I but it’s the truth.”

Tears streaked his cousins face when he pushed the door open, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. They noticed him immediately. Nicky barked out a watery apology for waking  him but Kevin wouldn’t meet his gaze. He looked to where Aaron was sunken into a beanbag with a game controller in his hand. He didn’t look up but must have felt Andrew’s stare burning a hole through his head. 

“Kevin is seeing ghosts,” Aaron said matter-of-factly.

Andrew’s brows shot up as he turned towards the striker. “Kevin?”

It took a while for Kevin to respond. Normally Andrew would have lost interest, but his curiosity was peaked and when Kevin did start  talking he was glad to have waited him out. Because once he started it opened a flood gate and he apparently couldn’t stop. 

Kevin recalled what he saw at the London game. The boy with the scarred face and the brown hair. The one that looked like  Neil but couldn’t be. Andrew made him describe every detail he could remember. 

“When?” Andrew asked. 

“.....Last month. Thanksgiving,” said Kevin, wringing his hands in front of him nervously. 

“And you decided to keep this to yourself?” asked Andrew, fighting to keep his composure.

Kevin sighed heavily and brought his hands up to grip the back of his neck. He met Andrew’s glare. “Nicky is right, Andrew. It’s nothing. I am just..... imagining things.”

“Show me.”

“Andrew.”

“I will not ask twice.”

It took a moment to boot up the laptop and find the video. Andrew waved the others away, kicking them out of the dorm. Nicky went hesitantly but without question. Aaron grumbled and swore under his breath but eventually followed. As the door closed shut, Kevin paused the video, freezing the screen on a blurry image. Andrew studied it for a few minutes. He rewound and fast-forward, slowed down the stream and froze it again and again. When Kevin started to speak again Andrew turned and punched him in the cheek. He fell from the chair and gripped the reddened flesh, glaring up at the goalie. 

Andrew turned back to the stream as Kevin pushed himself up, putting a solid five feet between them. 

“What the fuck, Andrew?” he said, working his sore jaw. 

“That is my line,” said Andrew. “What the fuck, Kevin?”

The striker shifted between his feet. For a moment Andrew thought he might run. “I saw your room, Andrew. You do not need to go down that road again. It isn’t him. It can’t be. You saw the reports. You had them on your wall for  Christ's sake. Neil is dead.”

“You are all wrong,” Andrew muttered, hunching back over the screen. 

It was as close as he’d come to mentioning his theories  out-loud . 

He scanned the video for a few more minutes before sweeping past Kevin to the bedroom. The striker appeared a few minutes later while Andrew had a duffle bag laid out on Nicky’s bed. He haphazardly tossed in clothes and toiletries. Rummaged in the closet for a moment before coming back with Neil’s binder - something he’d stolen from the safe in Matt’s dorm when they’d returned last spring. 

“What are you doing?” Kevin asked, his voice on the edge of panic.

Andrew remained silent. 

“You are not serious,” Kevin continued, daring to take a few steps into the room. “Andrew...you can’t. The spring season starts in two weeks. And how the fuck do you intend on finding him if he is alive? Are you just going to walk around _ England _ until you catch a glimpse of him?”

Kevin had a point, but Kevin didn’t know how far he’d gotten. His conspiracy-theory wall was gone but he’d long since memorized every letter of every word. He had a few addresses of  Hatford owned businesses, he just couldn’t find phone numbers or other ways to contact them and didn’t know if the addresses were even still good. But it was a start. The man in that video. It was Neil, he was sure of it. He was sure because the man was sitting next to someone he recognized as Stuart  Hatford , though he kept that information to himself. For  a brief moment he thought if Neil was alive and hadn’t come back, it was for a good reason. But Andrew didn’t care. He would find Neil if for no other reason than to throttle him for disappearing when he said he wanted to stay. Andrew agreed to let him stand on his own, but Neil promised to not to run. Andrew intended to remind him of that.

Kevin continued to try and talk sense into  him but Andrew ignored him. He heard him pounding on the door for Nicky and Aaron by the time he was pushing through to the staircase, but it was too late. They couldn’t stop him.

🔑

_ January, Brighton, England. _

Back in England, Abram found himself staring through the living room window at the lights on the house across the street. Christmas had been nearly two weeks ago but they most of his neighbors were still resolutely clinging to the holiday. At least by way of outdoor decorations. Or maybe they were just too lazy to take them down. 

It was 3am but he had a cup of black coffee in his hand, a blanket thrown over his shoulders to fight off the chill. He’d been having nightmares again. Well...not nightmares really. He still had them, but the recurring dreams he’d been having recently were more confusing than anything. Dreams about looking over the long drop from a roof, a faceless man with blond hair pulling him back from the edge. He’d wake with a lingering smell of cigarettes in his mind. 

Two days before he’d seen a clip on a sports show about the Palmetto State Foxes. There wasn’t anything special about the show, just a review of NCAA  Exy and speculation about who would make it to spring finals. The Foxes were brought up as the commentators made a joke, as it often happened, about how the South Carolina team could never be consistent. Though they’d been consistently bad for years, at least from what Abram knew when they were mentioned in the past. But the story now turned towards their last season. They had been doing well, apparently. Made spring finals but then had to drop out because their team was short one player. They had been disqualified. Now their star goalie was missing in action, having missed their game the previous week due to an ‘injury,’ according to their coach. It was clear the broadcasters didn’t buy it and they speculated wildly, citing the Foxes penchant for their players self-destructing before they made it through all five years of their contracts. According to the anchor, one of their players died from an overdose the previous year and another had gone missing before finals, ending their chances at a championship for the first time. 

While the program was useless fodder, it did strike a sense of déjà vu in Neil. They flashed photos of the Foxes lineup on the  screen and he thought he recognized them. Not from an internet article or another television program. But because he knew them...somehow. Which was ridiculous. 

He lasted a solid three hours before he started googling everything he could think of about the Foxes. Every stat, every article he could fine. It was another two hours before he came across a picture of his face. Dark hair, brown contacts, unscarred cheeks. The photo was embedded under the headline “PSU Starting Striker goes missing after Binghamton riot.” It was dated March of last year and told the story of Neil Josten, a freshman recruit to the Foxes who had disappeared after a riot at one of their games. 

Predictably, he had a panic attack. What the fuck had he been thinking? Playing  Exy of all things? Not only in, wherever the hell ‘Millport, Arizona,’ was but for a NCAA class 1 team? He must have lost his mind. Been hit on the head one too many times while on the run. What could have possibly made him break every rule, every promise he’d given his mother as she took her last breaths on a deserted beach in California? The fact that Kevin was on the team was even more concerning. He’d exposed himself. Gotten sloppy. It was probably Kevin who turned him over to his father. He never understood, or maybe couldn’t remember, why he’d met Kevin all those years ago at Evermore. Why they, along with Riko Moriyama had watched his father cut a man apart on a conference table. But between his disturbing childhood memories and his  mothers insistence that he stay the hell away from  Exy , he knew seeing Kevin again would have been a terrible idea. One he’d apparently gone through with. 

Abram slammed the laptop shut. He was itching to read more, to delve deeper, but managed to convince himself that no good would come from it. It couldn’t. He’d fucked up after his mother died, and now he was finally safe. And by some miracle no one had put together that the missing player Neil Josten and the son of Nathan  Wesninski , publicly declared dead weeks after the riot, were the same person. Although his father’s case was still open, so maybe it just wasn’t public knowledge. It had been difficult to find anything about the incident in Baltimore, nothing had been on the mainstream news and the single article declaring him dead had been a blip in one of the local papers there. Which wasn’t surprising. Nathaniel  Wesninski didn’t matter to anyone. Either way, it was a road he couldn’t follow. Shouldn’t. It wouldn’t lead anywhere good. 

The last two days had him more stir crazy than usual. The months he’d spent in Brighton were the longest he could ever remember staying anywhere. Except, now that he knew he’d been at PSU for almost a whole year, that wasn’t true either. Regardless, the itch to run surfaced again, humming beneath his skin. But he pushed it down for now. Just like he must have pushed down the memories of the Foxes and Exy. That wasn’t his life anymore. It never should have been in the first place. 

_‘Cause_ _I’m not in a right state of mind; I just wish I had strength to admit it._   
_My stubbornness will put up a fight, but I don’t deserve to win it._   
_I’m left in the dark pondering my mistakes, but in the_ _light_ _I swear I will deny it all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why must they struggle?????


	3. The Lying Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrew does what he does best - find shit out. Abram meets an old stranger he once knew. 
> 
> ~*~
> 
> All credit to Nora, I own nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LET YOURSELVES BE HAPPY YOU IDIOTS.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> CHAPTER RATING: T (Canon mentions of scars, rape, torture, murder)

_I sense deception to come_   
_Honestly, truth and I are never one_   
_‘Cause I am the lying man_   
_And I have made you my next victim_   
_I need you to see through my act_   
_To tell me I’m wrong, to take off the mask_   
_Or else I’ll be left in the lie_   
_I’ll deceive my way straight to demise_

_ January, Brighton, England. _

It took him thirty  grand but he tracked down Stuart  Hatford . Andrew tailed him for days and was both unimpressed but grateful he kept a regular schedule. He spent most of his time at a non-descript office building in central London, coming and going like clockwork. There was no sign of Neil. Andrew thought about asking the older man outright but knew the odds of Stuart killing him or hiding Neil even further were too high. He needed to be patient. 

Andrew followed him between his work and what was presumably his home, a large estate about twenty-five minutes from downtown. For a few days he just watched the house, taking note of what he assumed was ‘the help’ or Stuarts ‘associates’ coming and going. But there was still no sign of Neil. Andrew didn’t think anyone could keep Neil Josten inside for so long. Not after he’d watched the man pace a hole in the carpet of his dorm when it rained for several days straight, meaning he could only use the treadmill at the gym. His foul mood had been infuriating to deal with. There was no way they would keep him inside for so long unless he was tied up. Which, honestly, was possible. Andrew didn’t know much about the  Hatfords but Neil once mentioned Stuart was a gangster too and he hadn’t felt safe with him. If he was keeping Neil as some sort of prisoner, Andrew already knew he would kill him. 

On the fifth day Stuart deviated from his regular routine and left town. So far Andrew only saw him use one vehicle and he usually had a driver. Today he’d left his rather large home, alone in an Aston Martin that Andrew wanted equally to steal and run off the road to be able to interrogate the man. 

Thankfully after watching far too many spy movies as a teenager, he came prepared. Whenever a new car emerged from the property Andrew tailed it, waited until the driver left it unattended, and popped a GPS device on the underside of the vehicle (it was amazing what you could buy on the internet these days for only $19.99). He knew tailing anyone too closely would get him caught and had invested in a solid stock of cliché ‘spy’ supplies for his trip. Luckily, a burly looking man in a suit had taken the luxury ride out for fuel a few days earlier and Andrew was able to install the GPS. So, he followed at a safe distance, checking the app on the new smartphone he’d purchased. He still had his preferred flip phone stuffed in his bag, but the newer device was necessary for tracking purposes and he’d picked it up last minute before heading to the airport in South Carolina.

The drive was  actually pleasant once he left the city and Andrew smelled the salt air before he saw the water. He followed Stuart to coastal Brighton, turning along a seaside highway before looping around to a small, suburban neighborhood. He was a few minutes behind and had to drive around once he arrived to spot the car, which wasn’t difficult. Most of the little cottages sported modest, compact sedans so the expensive car stood out like a sore thumb.

It was parked in front of a small house with a stucco smeared exterior and high hedges. The impressive landscaping seemed to be flourishing, even in the wintry weather. A gardener was outside, weeding the flower bed but no one else was in sight. It was difficult to see much, with the hedges being taller than Andrew and the opening at the front walk only five feet wide. After the gardener left an hour later, he got out to walk the street with a cigarette. He paused in front of the opening, pretending to tie his shoe. A quick glance beyond the hedges revealed security cameras mounted to the wall, aimed at the front stoop. 

When he climbed back in the car the sun was just dipping below the tree line. He pulled out a pair of small binoculars and turned to watch the entrance between the hedges. Stuart emerged a few minutes later and Andrew ducked down in his seat as the car pulled away. He would never know why, but he decided to stay behind. He wasn’t sure what Stuart had his hands in, but he didn’t think it was  drugs so it wasn’t likely to be an opium den or anything. And human trafficking seemed too far-fetched. There were houses nearby so there probably wasn’t anything too nefarious happening there. He figured he could sit on it a while and if his investigation  yielded nothing, he could pick up Stuart’s trail with the tracking device. 

For a while there was no movement at all. Then, at five, someone else came out of the house. Andrew picked up the binoculars again to look. He felt obnoxious holding them, like some hack spy from a terrible b-list movie. But they were necessary. And what he saw with them nearly knocked the wind out of him. 

It was Neil. More scarred than before, with light brown hair and those ugly brown contacts. His skin was almost entirely covered in black and grey. He jogged in place for a moment on the sidewalk, checking his phone, before taking off down the street. Andrew wanted to follow but he could barely get a breath in. Neil was here. He was alive. He’d run again. The irony of the thought as Neil was actively running wasn’t lost on Andrew. Neil used to run for at least an hour in the morning and evenings too, when he wasn’t too wiped from practice. You could set a watch on his schedule. Andrew waited a few minutes and crept towards the house. He could see the light on the security cameras on the door, a good indicator that they weren’t just for show. They also looked be hardwired to the house. Looking up, he followed the power lines. There was a pole at the intersection a good distance from any houses.

Arson hadn’t been something he’d done in a very long time. Years ago, Andrew set an empty school gym alight to get himself sent to juvie, but never had any fascination with fire. But right now, it was the quickest way to cause a power outage. Andrew tugged a spare can of gasoline from the trunk of his car and snuck four houses down to the pole, flicking a match at the base. Within minutes it was engulfed in flames and the transformer blew, lighting up the night like a firework and showering the street with sparks. It appeared to have knocked out power for the whole block. Under cover of darkness, he snuck into the house, easily picking the lock. He was relieved to see the red light had disappeared from the camera. The he waited, leaning against the door, listening to the sirens down the street.

Nearly an hour later keys jingled outside, the lock clicked, and the door opened. Neil used his phone to shine a light in the house. He seemed to notice something off pretty  quickly but it didn’t matter. Andrew grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the door. The phone was let go, Neil instead going for something behind his back. A knife apparently. Andrew caught his wrist and slammed his arm against the door, making him drop that too. His remaining hand curled around Andrew’s wrist, trying to loosen his grip.

“I thought I told you not to run, rabbit,” Andrew snarled in his face, trying to channel his rage rather than think about what it felt like to have Neil’s skin beneath his fingers again. 

Neil blinked several times, as if trying to force his eyes to adjust to the dark. “You ..... ”

Andrew eased up on his throat when he had difficulty talking and Neil’s hand squeezed his wrist. 

“You’re Andrew. Andrew Minyard,” he said with a British accent.

“No shit asshole,” Andrew ground out. “I will take that explanation now,  _ Nathaniel _ . Unless you would rather me just cut out your tongue and bury you in the backyard without it.”

“Explanation?” Neil flinched at the mention of his name.

“What the fuck happened?” Andrew growled, slamming him back against the wall again. “And what the fuck wrong with your voice?”

“What are you talking about? Let me go!” Neil said, struggling against him.

Andrew kept up the interrogation, his ferocity. But something was off. Neil was looking at him with vague recognition, but his expression was totally unfamiliar. 

“My patience has grown thin since we last saw each other. I would not test it right now,” Andrew continued.

“I don’t......I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Neil choked out, letting go of his wrist long enough to try to push him away. 

Andrew only shoved him back. He let go of his throat and held him against the wall with a forearm over his collarbone. His other hand still held onto Neil’s forearm, pushing it into the thatched wood pattern of the decorative door.

“I know you are an  idiot, but denial never suited you....”

Neil’s expression turned  frantic and he stopped struggling. “I don’t know...Okay?! I mean...I know I was Neil to you...I think. But I don’t remember. I saw it on the news. Why are you here? Did Kevin send you? My father’s dead so if you think you can use me as some sort of ransom or bargaining chip you can’t. No one would want me.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” asked Andrew, loosening his hold but not letting go. 

Neil waved the hand pinned to the door a little. “...Kevin? He turned me in. My dad found me. Look I never should have joined your team okay, I have no idea why I would have done that. So just let me go. You don’t know my family. If they find out Kevin told the Foxes who I really am they’ll kill you...”

Andrew’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t remember.”

“That's what I said!”

“You don’t remember....”

“You fry a brain cell or something?” Neil huffed. “I said I don’t remember. Look I don’t know what I did or said...but you should forget about it. And you need to leave. It isn’t safe for....”

Andrew pushed off him and backed away several feet, staring at him like he had three heads. 

“You don’t remember,” he murmured again. 

For a moment they just stared at each other, and then it was Neil’s turn to stare at him in confusion.

“What....”

Andrew left the house, slamming the door so hard he heard a painting fall from the wall and hit the floor with a clatter. 

When he returned there was no sign of Neil, but he could hear the floorboards creaking above him. The bannister was decorative and polished, much like the rest of the wooden accents he could see. Climbing carefully, trying not to make too much noise on the creaky staircase, he reached the top. Only one door was open and the room beyond was washed in moonlight from a large bay window that faced the backyard. Neil was frantically shoving things into a black bag while swearing under his breath. He tossed a phone on the bed angrily and when the light glinted off the glass Andrew could see the screen was cracked.

Andrew shifted in the doorway and Neil rounded on him instantly, holding a gun to his face. His eyes flicked to the bag and back up again, giving the barrel a bored blink.

“Stop fucking running,” he said, finding Neil’s false, brown eyes.

At first, Neil didn’t respond, but he did lower the gun a fraction. Shifting again, Andrew held up the binder in his hand, tossing it to the bed. Neil spared it a glance and looked back, raising the gun again with a scowl. 

“That’s mine,” Neil said, dropping the accent.

Andrew watched the man run scarred fingers over the  beat-up plastic, “So you do remember something then.”

“Why do you have it?” Neil ignored him.

“You left it at Palmetto State. In your dorm. In your safe,” answered Andrew.

Neil eyed him suspiciously. “Why would you know how to get into my safe?”

“I know everything about you.”

“Bullshit,” Neil nearly laughed. “No one knows everything about me. No one knows  _ anything _ about me. I'm no one. The person you met doesn’t even exist.”

Andrew shrugged and leaned his shoulder against the wooden frame but kept his eyes locked on Neils. “You are Neil Josten. Number 10, starting striker for the Palmetto State Foxes. You nineteen years old...for another couple weeks. Your mother was Mary Hatford. Your father was Nathan  Wesninski . He was killed last March. Your middle name...is Abram.”

Neil bristled and didn’t lower the gun further. “I’m not impressed. I thought I hid pretty well but obviously I fucked up in South Carolina. Who knows how you got that information.”

Andrew took a step forward. 

“Don’t,” Neil ground out, flicking off the safety.

He took another step until the barrel was pressed against his chest. 

“Your middle name...is Abram,” he continued. “Your shoe size is 8 and your racquet size is 3. When you are not wearing ugly contacts your eyes are blue. You do not like sweets but you like fruit. Your favorite color is gray. You doodle on your homework and for some god forsaken reason you like math.”

Andrew tipped his chin up so his eyes bored into Neil’s, trying to see through the fake, colored lenses. “You have kissed three girls and your mother beat you for it when she found out. When she died, you burned her body and buried her bones on a beach in California. And you run. All the time. In the morning, after practice, before bed. It is exhausting to witness. No one should run that much.”

Andrew took another step so they were less than a foot apart, forcing Neil to lower the gun.

He flicked the safety on, unable to tear his eyes away from Andrew, his expression frozen in shock. 

“I’ve never......no one should know any of that. I didn’t even realize I knew some of those thi....who  _ are _ you....? ” Neil managed to choke out.

Andrew moved again, his hand reaching up, out. Neil tracked the movement but stilled. For an age his hand hovered over the other man. When Neil swallowed, Andrew pressed a hand to his shirt, giving him time to move away if he wanted. He didn’t. 

Andrew’s hand moved over Neil’s torso.

“Iron....” said Andrew, moving his hand. “Gun shot,” he moved his hand again, “Road rash” he moved it again, “Knife...your  fathers men.”

When Andrew moved his hand a final time, it was to a cut on Neil’s ribs. “Another knife...Riko.”

“Moriyama?”

Andrew nodded and stepped away. 

“Why would Riko hurt me?”

“You really don’t remember?”

Neil dropped down on the bed, pain and frustration carved into his features. He tossed the gun to the head of the bed and hunched over, buying his hands in his own hair, pulling. “I was hurt.... my un...someone found me. I got better but I lost time. A couple years, I think.”

Andrew sighed and walked around the bed, sitting on the other side. He wanted to leave. Neil was fine. He hadn’t run. He hadn’t broken a promise. And he seemed to be okay now. There was no reason to interrupt his new life. This was an out, for both of them. From the moment he’d met the infuriating man Andrew knew he would be a problem and now he was free. Neil could go about his life without worrying about people chasing him and Andrew could go back to the monotony of hating stickball and trying to get his flock to live long enough to graduate. He didn’t have to force himself back into Neil’s life. And he shouldn’t. Neil would be better off that way. 

But Andrew couldn’t move. The silence between them was deafening. 

Neil stood. He picked up the gun again to set it atop the antique dresser and turned to lean against the wall, arms crossed as he watched Andrew. 

“Andrew?”

Andrew looked up but didn’t quite meet his gaze, looking past him. His throat felt scratchy. He’d spoken more in the last twenty minutes than he had in the last nine months. “According to Kevin, your father belonged to the Moriyamas. They are immigrated yakuza. You were supposed to be given to Coach Moriyama as a peace offering. When you met Kevin and Riko as a kid it was to try out to see if you were worth keeping. If you were, you would be a Raven. But your mother disappeared with you that night. I don’t know everything that happened in between other than what you told me. I know you went to high school in Arizona. Kevin scouted you from there, even though he did not remember you at the time. He was not the reason you were caught. Riko dug up your identity later in the year.”

“I played  Exy . For the Foxes,” said Neil, as if he was testing the words. 

But Andrew didn’t miss the way Neil’s brow had dug in with confusion at the mention of the  Moriyamas even if  _ Exy _ was what he latched onto. Typical junkie. Andrew nearly scoffed.

“Yes. You are annoyingly obsessed with it...” Andrew leaned back on his hands. 

Neil nodded, trying to keep the corner of his lip from twitching and then looked down at his feet, taking it all in. “I can’t believe I would have told everyone who I was...”

“You didn’t.”

“Then how do....”

“You told me. Pieces, at least. The rest I choked out of Kevin when you disappeared. They know some of it now, but not everything.”

Neil shifted uncomfortably and let his hands trace the scars at his shoulders. A few  minutes passed and Neil  asked, “ Why did you come after me if it’s not for some kind of ransom? What am I to you?”

Andrew did scoff this time and dropped his head back, staring at the textured ceiling. He suddenly felt exhausted. “Pipe dream...”

“I’m not a pipe dream, I’m not going anywhere...” Neil said quietly, automatically, fingers going to rest over his lips after, as if he was unsure where that came from. 

Andrews head snapped up and he turned on the bed to look at Neil. 

They stared at each other for several tense minutes, both looking like they wanted to flee but neither able to move. Finally, Andrew stood, his body moving stiffly towards the door. Neil caught his arm. He yanked it away and Neil muttered a hasty ‘sorry,’ instead reaching up to grip the edge of the door.

“Where are you going?”

Hazel eyes catalogued the new scars on the back of Neil’s hand, similar to the one’s on his face. It took monumental effort to tear them away.

“You didn’t run” he said. “Not really. You are not six feet under. I have told you who you are. Or who you used to be. Do with it what you want. I am leaving.” 

Andrew turned and walked down the stairs, intent on walking out of Neil’s life, like he should have done from the beginning.

Neil caught up to him at the bottom. 

“Wait... stay...”

The lights came back on and they both flinched at the sudden brightness. 

Andrew stopped but didn’t turn. 

“I am going back to South Carolina. Decide what you want to do with the information I have given you. I don’t care.”

His hand curled around the knob of the front door.

“Were we friends?” Neil blurted, chewing on his lip. “I mean I’ve never had...but you seem like you might....”

“The Foxes were your friends,” he replied.

“But I wasn’t yours?”

“You were nothing.”

“Oh.”

Andrew finally turned, digging something out of his pocket. He dropped it into Neil’s hand. An old beat-up flip phone. 

“It has a text app. My number is programmed in it. I am getting on a plane tomorrow. Decide what you want to do...and do it.”

Then Andrew was gone. 

🔑

Neil spent all night going through the phone until he was bleary eyed and watching dust motes spin in the early morning light that poured through the window. It had a single crack running through the screen and several chips on the outside casing but turned on easily enough. And there was text app on it like Andrew said. But there were also a bunch of old, archived texts. They were numbers he couldn’t access with no service in the UK, from names he recognized as the players of the Foxes. He read them for hours. How he’d ever texted anyone this much he couldn’t understand. There were especially long conversations with Nicky  Hemmick and Matt Boyd. And Allison texted him a lot, mostly complaints that she couldn’t send him selfies since his phone was a ‘dinosaur’ that wouldn’t accept picture texts. One text was from ‘Aaron’ and only read ‘Don’t tell Andrew about Katelyn,’ and Neil found himself scratching his head in confusion, trying desperately to recall the memory. He had no idea who Katelyn was and didn’t recall seeing her name on the Foxes lineup. 

The conversations with Andrew were always just a few words and Neil didn’t really understand the context of most of them, but somehow the fewer words seemed more significant than the other mindless conversations. Andrew was telling the truth. Somehow, he’d let his guard down. He’d become friends with this team. 

Neil managed to doze a couple hours in the early morning, hand resting on his gun like it was a security blanket. He woke again when his alarm blared at 8 am. But that night, in his dreams, the boy on the roof had a face. Andrew's face. And when he woke in the morning, he wanted nothing more than for Andrew to peel back each layer of lies, each falsehood he’d spun over the years. He wanted Andrew to strip him free of his mask once and for all. To show him who he really was. Someone he could maybe be again.

He texted Andrew moments after silencing his alarm and asked him what time his flight was. Surprisingly, Andrew responded only minutes later with a concise “1 _ pm, Heathrow _ .” 

Before he could think, before he could feel or even realize what he was doing, Neil dressed and tore from the cottage. He climbed into the Mercedes he’d barely touched since moving to Brighton and swore when he realized it needed gas. Luckily it was still early, and he had plenty of time to make it to his destination. It was five minutes to eleven when he made it to the airport and it took him a bit of wandering to find the proper gate. Luckily Andrew hadn’t gone through security and was sitting at one of the coffee shops with a duffel tucked protectively between his feet and the legs of the small table. 

“Stay....” said Neil, with no preamble, as he approached the table. 

He was harried and a little out of breath, his eyes wide and hair sticking up in place since he hadn’t bothered to tame it before darting out the door. 

Andrew likely saw him coming since his movements were slow, calm. He took a sip of whatever sugary-looking coffee concoction he’d ordered and didn’t look up at Neil. 

“No.”

Neil nearly stamped his foot like an  8-year-old having a tantrum but just managed to keep himself under control. He wasn’t sure why he’d come after Andrew. Wasn’t sure why he’d done any of the reckless things he apparently did in the last year. Maybe he just wanted to know more about himself...about Neil Josten. Maybe his curiosity really would get him killed. 

“I want you to help me remember,” he said, trying not to come off as desperate as he felt.

“What makes you think I want to do that?” asked Andrew, finally looking up. 

The airports patrons bustled by without noticing  them, but Neil stepped closer anyways. 

“You flew across an ocean to find me,” reasoned Neil, “I want ....I want to know what it was like. To be Neil. If someone is going to help me get my memories  back I think it’s going to be you .”

“You can’t know that,” said Andrew, one hand curling around his drink while the fingers on his other hand rapped on the glass tabletop in agitated rhythm.

“I think I do,” said Neil. “And I think you know it too.”

They stared each other down. Announcements rang out overhead, a cool female voice citing the next departures that would be boarding soon. Finally, Andrew downed the rest of his coffee. He stood, shouldered his duffel and discarded the cup in the bin before turning back towards Neil. 

“Two days,” said Andrew, briefly reaching to hook a finger in Neil’s collar. He tugged. “Then I am leaving.” 

Neil fought to keep from grinning. “Deal.”

🔑

On the drive back from the airport Neil’s stomach grumbled so loudly Andrew refused to talk to him until he’d eaten something other than the granola bar he’d picked up when they stopped at a grocery store for supplies. When they were once more enveloped by the warmth of the cottage, the blond shoved him towards the stairs with an order to shower and made for the kitchen. He’d almost started a fight – not happy to be bossed around in his own goddamn house by someone he barely knew, at least, currently. But he  _ was _ hungry and he  _ did _ need a shower. By the time he came back downstairs to several delicious looking grilled cheese sandwiches and sliced apples, he decided it was worth being bossed around a little. 

They ate in silence, migrating to the couch afterwards and sitting on opposite ends. Andrew impatiently gestured for him to get on with it, so he did. 

Neil asked questions and Andrew answered, though the goalkeeper somehow strategically managed to dodge most of the details when it would reveal anything about himself. He did learn that he’d made a deal with Andrew – protection in exchange for keeping Kevin’s interest and keeping him at Palmetto. Because for some reason he’d caught Kevin Day’s eye and become his protégé of sorts, which may have been the most ridiculous thing about the entire situation. 

He also learned he’d asked Andrew to let him out of his deal right before he disappeared and wondered if he knew what was going to happen. But that was absurd. Why would he just let himself be taken by his father’s people? The same people he’d spent a lifetime trying to outrun.

Andrew also told him the less than savory parts of his time at PSU. How he’d suspected Neil to be a spy from the Raven’s at first and had drugged him for answers, though had been unsuccessful. How he’d broken into his belongings and hit him with a racquet the first time they met. He also talked about when things began to go south. Neil had mouthed off to Riko on live television. In retaliation one of their teammates had been killed and Neil’s past had been dug up and used against him as blackmail. Andrew told him he’d willingly gone to Evermore to keep his secrets and protect them...though he’d been a little vague there. Neil assumed it had more to do with protecting himself from being exposed and protecting Kevin, since they seemed to have had that goal in common. Regardless – it must have worked. Nothing in Andrew’s tale nor what he’d dug up himself on the internet indicated that his real identity had been exposed to the world. At least not the world at large.

They took a break in the evening so Andrew could  shower and they could eat a late dinner. The blond grumbled about the lack of ice cream and grudgingly snatched a bag of popcorn when Neil offered it instead. 

“How do you know where my scars are?” asked Neil, looking away from the television drama neither of them were paying much attention to. 

Andrew paused with a piece of popcorn in his hand, popping it in his mouth and chewing thoughtfully before answering. “We play a sport. We spend a lot of time in a locker room.”

It sounded like a lie wrapped in a truth.

Neil tipped his head in suspicion. “You memorized where they are from seeing me change  clothes? Isn’t that kind of...stalker-ish?”

Andrew ignored him but shifted uncomfortably, cutting his eyes back to the tv. All mannerisms of someone who wasn’t accustomed to lying.

“What aren't you telling me?”

“I’m sure I have left out plenty,” mocked Andrew, chewing loudly on purpose.

Neil leaned forward to put  himself in Andrew’s line of sight.

“That’s not what I mean,” said Neil. “Were we.....involved somehow?”

It was Neil’s turn to look uncomfortable. He fiddled with the tight, rolled trim of the couch cushion but forced his gaze to remain on the blonde. Something had been bothering him since the moment he’d shown up out of the blue. Since his features vividly replaced the faceless man on the roof in his dreams.

“You don’t swing,” Andrew answered carefully, still looking away.

Another truth.

“Then why do I want to kiss you?” Neil blurted, though it was so quiet it could be counted as a whisper.

Scarred fingers shot up to his lips, dragging across them like they’d betrayed him somehow. His eyes widened and Andrew froze next to him. 

“I. ..I don’t know...I’m not sure what I’m thinking,” Neil continued, nails digging into his chin. “It’s just a feeling...but I think my body remembers. Remembers you. I remember...cold air...cigarettes. I remember a concrete roof.”

The television droned on but the silence between them was cutting.

“Andrew.”

Still silence. Across the room the clock clicked loudly, seconds turning to minutes.

Neil slowly reached over and took the remote, shutting off the TV. He shifted until he was on his knees, fully facing Andrew. He didn’t lean  in but flicked his eyes from Andrew’s temple to his mouth and knew Andrew was watching him from his periphery. 

“Can I?” asked Neil. 

Finally, Andrew turned to face him, sliding one leg onto the couch so his knee was just an inch from Neil’s. His eyes were wide, nearly amber in the low light and almost completely obscured by dark pupils. 

New words formed at the front of Neil’s mind. “Yes or no?”

Andrews eyes flared for a second before darkening again. “Yes.”

Neil leaned forward but paused when Andrew’s hand shot up to grab his chin. But he didn’t hold him back. Instead, he guided  Neil forward, letting him reach out to balance himself on the back of the couch, and kissed him. Just a slight press of lips but Neil’s stomach bottomed out. A full body shiver ran through him, starting from where their mouths were connected and running down to his fingertips curling around the sofa. Andrew must have felt it because he pulled back, brows digging into his forehead as he stared up at Neil. He leaned back in and Neil met him halfway. Andrew’s hand on the back of his neck was a trigger. Memories flooded his mind like a tidal wave. First peeling back, away from the shore and then rushing in, washing over him in flashes that he could barely make sense of. But he remembered this. This  _ feeling _ . Like something he’d done it a hundred times. It was more real than he was.  Than his dozens of names or disguises.  Than the lies he’d told  over and over again . 

The aging frame of the couch creaked beneath them and Neil’s hands shook as they moved, threaded slowly in  Andrews hair. He was sure Andrew would push him away but the hand on the back of his neck tightened and another gripped his shoulder, pulling him closer so their chests brushed together. The kiss turned into a furious thing, all bruising lips and nipping teeth. But Neil welcomed the ache of his mouth and jaw and he welcomed the images even though they were overloading his senses. The background of an empty dorm while his shoulders dug into a wall. Rain drizzling down over a quiet campus. Smiling faces of  people he  _ knew _ . 

When Andrew pulled away again, abruptly, Neil chased his lips for a second. He blinked back to reality, registering his ragged breathing and the half-hard cock straining against his pants. But he couldn’t find it in himself to be embarrassed. Not when he’d found a piece of his past....one that was, had to be, vital. His body  _ knew _ this. It was familiar. Andrew was _ something _ to him. Not a just friend. Not just a teammate. More than that. Neil's eyes found his lips again and he leaned in, but Andrew pulled back, giving his chest a little shove and wiping his own lips hard with the back of his hand.

“We can’t do this,” said Andrew.

Neil huffed and dropped his side against the back of the couch. “...why not?”

“You don’t even remember me,” Andrew said between gritted teeth.

Neil watched his jerky movements and followed his hand to his pocket where he was likely reaching for the pack of  cigarettes he’d tossed on the kitchen counter earlier. They were still there. When he came up empty Andrew dragged a hand through his hair roughly, skewing it to one side.

“I do...” said Neil, quickly. “Maybe not everything...but...I know you. I know you’re important. My hands remember, my fingers....my mouth. I know whatever it was, I wanted it. I still want it. I want this.”

“There is no this,” Andrew said darkly.

“’This is nothing’,” he said  quietly and Andrew flicked his fingers as if Neil had proved his point. “I am nothing. And as you’ve always said, you want nothing.”

Andrew froze and Neil latched onto the sleeve of his shirt. Andrew let him. 

“I remember...I said that to you...I think...” said Neil. “And Matt...I lived with him, right? And. ..you gave me a key. I. ..I remember the shape. I traced it so many times I remember the shape...”

Neil let go and jumped up so quickly Andrew recoiled at the movement. He crossed the kitchen and snatched his messenger bag from the counter. When he returned a second later it was with one of his school notebooks. He flipped it open and tossed it onto the cushion before dropping back down. Andrew looked down at it, fingers lightly tracing the pencil marks, dozens of keys drawn in the margins. All the same.

“You remember?” asked Andrew, his eyes cast down and fingers still mapping out the pages.

Drawing his knees up to his chest, Neil fisted hands in his hair and screwed up his face, closing his eyes. 

“It comes in flashes. Like...photographs or old movies.” He opened his eyes. “Andrew...I’ve remembered more in the last twenty-four hours than I have in the last eleven months. I can do this okay...I can get my memory back just ... _. _ help me . ...” he pleaded. “ _ Stay _ .”

Andrew tossed the notebook on the table and withdrew to the opposite end of the  couch.

Finally, he said “Come back to South Carolina. The Foxes....they can help you.”

Neil considered it. He was sure Andrew was right. It seemed like familiarity was what helped recover his memories and if he went back to the  place he’d made them, maybe he could remember. But then he remembered his uncle. 

“I.....I’m missing. Dead.”   
  
“What?” asked Andrew.

“In South Carolina. People think Neil Josten is missing and you said the feds put together who I was but they think I'm dead. If I just show up again won’t they come for me?”   
  
“They can try,” countered Andrew, continuing when Neil opened his mouth to argue again. “You will tell them the truth. You don’t have to hide anymore. No one is hunting you.”

Neil shook his head. “It isn’t that simple. If I  have to explain how I disappeared and where I’ve been it could mess things up for my uncle. He won’t allow it.”

“So only tell them half the truth. You have always been good at that.”

Neil drummed his fingers on the couch. 

As if on cue, the door burst open and both jumped at the sound. Andrew had drawn slender blades from somewhere and  maneuvered himself in front of Neil instantly. Stuart  Hatford , along with three gun-toting men, pushed into the house. 

“Abram? The fuck is going on...” said Stuart, holding a  hand out to stop his men from advancing once he saw Andrew cutting off his path to Neil. “You haven’t answered your phone and the security  camera’s have been off...who the fuck is this? Who the fuck are you?”

“Uncle Stuart...just...can we have a minute,” he tipped his chin to the guards behind him. “Alone.”

Stuart sighed and holstered his gun. He made a hand gesture and the three guards went back outside to stand sentry. 

Neil moved around Andrew to stand in front of his uncle. 

“We need to talk.”

🔑

One hour and twenty-six minutes later, Neil had told his uncle everything. Everything he remembered at least, leaving Andrew to fill in a few of the gaps. Stuart also confirmed Andrew’s story about Nathan being an underling for the Moriyama’s - who apparently Stuart had some sort of shady alliance with.

“I want to go back to South Carolina,” said Neil, pointedly not meeting  Andrew's gaze though he felt the blond shift beside him at the table. “I want to be Neil again.”

Stuart dropped his forehead to his palm and groaned dramatically. “Christ Abram...you’ve always been so problematic. You definitely take after your mother.”

They stared each other down for a long moment but he eventually nodded. Neil reigned in his shock – it had been far too easy to get him to agree. Though maybe he understood Abram...Neil...enough now to know that once his mind was made up there was no changing it. Stuart retrieved a notepad and pen from the kitchen drawer and returned to the table. He wrote down a name and number. 

“Richard Browning. He works for the FBI. Call this number. He will get you back into the states. You tell him what you  have to without dragging this family through the mud. Leave out anything about the  Hatfords and the Moriyama. Ichirou as taken the crown but his power is still  fragile and he won’t want the balance upset.”

He slid the paper towards Neil but didn’t let go immediately, meeting his nephews stare with one of his own. “I mean it. We will have no choice but to throw you to the wolves if you say anything that could incriminate this family or put you in bad favor with the  Moriyamas . I’m trusting you here.”

“Is this Browning guy in your pocket?” Neil asked, pulling the paper towards him once his uncle released it.

“Let's just say we have a mutually beneficial agreement,” Stuart shrugged. “He lets my work slide, I feed him information from time to time. But you can talk to him. He’s the one of the  reasons I was able to enter the country undetected to take care of your father.”

Neil nodded. “I understand.”

🔑

It was late that night when his uncle left. At first, he insisted on leaving a guard behind, not trusting Andrew. But Neil was adamant that they leave. Andrew retired to the couch, refusing to sleep upstairs in the second bedroom. 

The next day they continued their question-and-answer routine and Andrew continued to be evasive. Neil had called Browning the night before and he was due to arrive at 10pm that night. Neil agreed to let him come to the house the following morning. He knew Andrew had a flight out that afternoon and he seemed to become even more twitchy with anticipation as the day approached.

The days interrogation exhausted them both so after dinner that night they didn’t talk. Instead, they sat on the couch in comfortable silence and watched TV. Some program neither were familiar with, but it was just as predictable as any droll American game show. Andrew unconsciously mouthed the answers before the contestants answered aloud, a habit he’d had for years. When he caught Neil  staring, he cut his eyes sideways. 

“Don’t look at me like that.”

Neil frowned, the careful smile slipping to something more contemplative. “Andrew...tell me something about you.”

Andrew watched him for a moment but didn’t answer right away. He had no patience for talking about himself to anyone other than Bee. Not anymore. 

“You’ve spent the last three days telling me who I was but nothing about you,” Neil said.

“I am not the one with missing memories.”

“But it’s not just me I’m trying to get to know again...”

The goalkeeper turned back to the TV, his finger drumming on his dark, denim-clad thigh. “It’s not important.”

“If it  wasn’t, I wouldn’t ask.”

Truthfully, idea of baring himself to Neil all over again sounded like torture. He tolerated it before because it had been an even exchange. But Neil had nothing to give him now. Andrew knew more than he did. But what was worse, Neil had been so open and honest with him the last couple days it had been almost unbearable. He wanted to know everything. He wanted to know nothing. This was his chance to get away. His chance to take it all back. To before he cared. Before he carved himself open and made a space for Neil.

“This was a mistake,” he finally said, unintentionally turning his thoughts into words.

Neil's frown deepened, somehow understanding the meaning behind the words. “I don’t think that’s true.”

“You don’t know anything,” he sneered.

“I know that this,” he gestured between the two of them, “wasn’t a mistake.”

Andrew’s eyes narrowed and his fists clenched in his lap. 

“It may have been...ill advised,” Neil continued. “Too great a risk. I don’t know your past but I can tell it wasn’t all sunshine and fuckin’ daisies. I think I stayed there for so long because......we fit. I don’t know how, or why. But we do. And you can deny it all you want but I’m not going away so you can’t just ignore me.”

Andrew scoffed “Famous last words.”

“I mean it. I’m here and so are you and I want to know you.”

_ Fuck him _ , honestly. Did he have to look so goddamn earnest? What happened these past months? When Neil had come to Palmetto it had been like pulling teeth to get answers and now  here he was, baring his soul and peeling back layer after layer of falsities, of masks he’d perfected over the years. All because he wanted Andrew to know him. Because he wanted to know himself. He wished it was a lie, but he knew what a lie sounded like coming from Neil. That wasn’t it.

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” Andrew said quietly.

Neil turned on the couch to face him, propping his cheek in his hand with a bony elbow digging into the back. “Then explain it to me.”

The show ended, rolling into a local news program. The weatherman mentioned evening thunderstorms and as if like clockwork, rain started to fall outside. Andrew finally spoke, quiet enough he wasn’t even sure Neil would be able to hear him over the splatter of water against the window and clay roof. But Neil leaned in a fraction and Andrew knew he was being heard. 

Andrew told him everything he could stomach, taking deep breaths and pauses between. Neil never interrupted. He  listen to Andrew talk about his brother and cousin. How he’d grown up in foster care while Aaron had grown up with their mother. How he’ gotten caught burning down a gym to be sent to juvie and when he got out his uncle, Nicky's father, had somehow convinced his biological mother to take him in. How shed gotten Aaron hooked on drugs and beat him so he’d staged the car accident that killed her. He talked about how Nicky had taken them in and Wymack had recruited them. 

By the time he was finished Neil had inched closer, his arm on the back of the couch and fingers just a breadth away from Andrew's hair. His cheek was pressed against the fabric covering his shoulder and one of his legs was tucked against his body, the other hand resting on his knee. Andrew could just make out the ring of blue around his irises. He wore a calm, soft expression. One he usually only let slip around Andrew or when one of the Foxes did something particularly nice for him. 

“Tell me something about you that I  knew, but no one else did,” said Neil.

Andrew tried to think of something. Most of what he’d shared with Neil that no one else knew were horror stories. Past tragedies and things he didn’t really want Neil to know either. He didn’t know If this version of Neil would look at him with pity or regret. 

Eventually he rolled up his sleeves one at a time, peeling back the dark cloth to expose pale, scarred skin. He’d been wearing his armbands and knives  underneath but they were discarded in his duffel now. He turned over his forearms to expose his wrists. Abby and doctors over the years had seen them, but otherwise no one knew. And Neil had the sense to shield him from his family that fateful day last thanksgiving, preserving another of his secrets. He took the chance, intentionally this time. Without the chaos of a dead man on the floor and his medication to diminish the feeling of being so exposed.

“I was in twelve foster homes before Cass,” he said. And he could have left it at that. He’d mentioned she was the last home he’d been in before going to juvie and Neil seemed to understand his time in the system hadn’t been pleasant, but he’d avoided the details before so he didn’t have to bring up....

“I mentioned my last foster family. Nice family. My foster mother...Cass...wanted to adopt me. I might have let her. But her son...her  _ real  _ son, Drake, liked me a little too much. I thought he was leaving, joining the marines, so I told myself if I could just endure. I could stay. So, I did. I endured,” he continued, turning his wrists back away and Neil looked back up to meet his gaze with his false eyes. “But then he deferred his enlistment. Found out I had a twin on the other side of the country and wanted to bring him there. I went to juvie and he never got a chance.”

Neil’s brows knitted and his mouth pressed together hard, thinking. Like there was a memory there. He mumbled under his breath. “A man with tattoos, blood, too much skin, someone ....someone was laughing.” 

Neil closed his eyes and when he opened them again, Andrew knew he’d pieced something together.

“He’s dead?” asked Neil.

Andrew nodded. “He’s dead.”

“Did....did I kill him?”

Andrew tilted his head to the side a little, face pensive. “Aaron did.”

Neil nodded a few times, trying to recall more. “Too bad. I think I would have liked to kill him...”

Relief flooded Andrew’s body. It shouldn’t have. Being comfortable around someone who was capable of murder shouldn’t make him feel relief. But he’d be a hypocrite he’d thought any less of Neil. They were both capable of darkness in order to protect themselves and what they cared about and somehow that was comforting. 

Andrew rolled his sleeves back down and reached for the remote, clicking the tv off. “You should sleep. The pig will be here in the morning.”

Neil nodded his agreement. Andrew didn’t miss the way Neil’s eyes flicked to his lips. 

“Take them out,” Andrew said, the words escaping before he’d even thought them. 

“Huh?”

“The contacts. Take them out.” He was tired of looking at the mask.

Neil hesitated but then reached back and snagged a tissue from the box on the side table. He pulled the contacts out and balled them up in the tissue, setting it down on the table. He stared at Andrew who stared back, unwavering. 

Andrew’s eyes dropped down to his cheeks and then knuckles. Neil was sitting close enough that Andrew could reach out, so he did and dragged the back of his knuckles down Neil’s face. A thumb brushed along the moisture at the corner of his eye where he’d blinked a few times from taking the contacts out and Neil’s breath hitched. He couldn’t help but to lean into the gesture a little. 

“How did you get these?” asked Andrew, putting a little pressure behind his fingers.

Neil swallowed thickly. “I can’t remember. But it must have been my father, or his people. They were still healing when I woke up in London.”

Andrew nodded and for a fleeting moment wished some of Neils memories wouldn’t come back if they could spare him more pain. God, he was going so fucking soft. Pulling back and leaning against the armrest, Andrew turned his head towards the blank tv. 

“Go to sleep, junkie.”

For some reason it made Neil smile and he got up. “You know there is a perfectly good bed in the spare room, you don’t have to sleep down here.”

Andrew just glared at him and Neil rolled his eyes in return, the exchange achingly familiar. “Whatever.”

🔑

At 7am the sound of creaking on the stairs jolted Andrew awake. Neil was heading out for his run in his stupid small shorts and ugly bandana. Some things were the same, at least. Andrew didn’t want to let him out of his sight but couldn’t find the words to stop him. Instead, he got up himself, massaging the kink from his next and stretching out his back after laying rigid on the couch all night, waking at every small noise. 

He showered, ate toast with jam and something from a jar called ‘clotted cream’. Mostly he fidgeted until Neil returned - which he did a little after eight. Andrew listened to the sound of the shower turn on and only seconds after it cut off there was a knock at the door. He knew it would take Neil a few minutes to get downstairs so he checked the peephole and then opened it, scowling up at the tall, disgruntled looking fed. 

The man eyed Andrew with distaste and looked back down at a folder in his hand, checking the sheet on top that was paper-clipped to the flimsy card stock. “This is 13 Gentry Lane?”

Andrew stared at him for a few moments with flat, dull eyes before stepping aside. “He’s here.”

Richard Browning stepped in and surveyed the small house with keen eyes and open suspicion while Andrew retreated to the kitchen, putting distance between the two of them. The man followed, smoothing out his slightly rumpled suit before standing like a statue near the counter. Andrew poured himself coffee and didn’t offer any to the interloper. 

A minute of frigid silence passed and then footsteps pounded on the stairs. Neil flung himself around the corner, hair sopping and eyes bright, clear blue. “Andrew I thought I heard....the door. Hi.”

“Nathaniel Wesninski?”

“Sometimes,” answered Neil, crossing his arms and keeping his distance as well. 

Browning glared at him and dropped the heavy folder onto the dining table. He yanked a chair out and tucked up his pants a little before sitting, tossing his suit jacket on the back of the chair next to him. Andrew noted he didn’t have a gun on him, though he suspected it was hard for even an FBI agent to bring a gun in to the UK, especially on unofficial business. 

“Look kid, I’ll get straight to the point. Your father has caused us a lot of problems and we’ve got dozens of missing persons cases and money trails that are linked to him but haven’t been able to make any headway. If I close them it will do me a lot of favors with the bureau - I'm up for associate deputy director next year. Give me the information I need, help me close a few, I’ll let you go back to South Carolina as Neil-whatever. Sound good?”

Neil eyed him suspiciously but hovered closer. “Sounds fucking peachy. What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” said the agent, sounding exasperated. As if trying to decide if this was all worth it. “I’m here as a favor to your uncle. You were a juvenile when most of this went down so we have no reason to charge you for the false identities or evading police. He told me you lost a good portion of recent memory after they tortured you last March. We know you were there – your blood was all over the scene. Officially you were declared dead. So, tell me what I want to  know and I’ll bring you back to life.”

It seemed too good to be true but if Neil wanted to go back, if he wanted to remember he didn’t have a choice. Andrew knew he realized as much when they exchanged a quick look between them. Neil sat down across from the agent and Andrew hopped onto the counter, watching them with mild interest from his perch. 

“Fine. What do you want to know?” asked Neil.

They spent the next six hours going over everything Neil could remember about his childhood, about his father. His memory there seemed mostly  intact and Andrew made a note to ask him exactly when the memories stopped. Neil also managed to remember at least four of the cases Browning was talking about – people who worked for his father before they’d screwed up and Lola had disposed of their bodies. She had apparently been killed along with several of his inner circle when Stuart raided the manor – though they didn’t talk about the raid itself. Andrew knew Neil didn’t remember it anyways. And somehow, Neil managed to keep his uncle and the Moriyama out of the conversation entirely. The latter was probably easy. Neil said he only remembered what Andrew had told him when it came to the Yakuza family, other than his  mucked-up trial with the Raven’s that was irrelevant to the current conversation. His eye twitched whenever he thought about them. As much as he wanted Neil to return, he wasn’t looking forward to him having to deal with Riko again.

“Why did your mother run with you?” asked Browning.

“Have you met my father?” sniped Neil.

A pause. “Fair enough.”

At one o’clock they made BLT sandwiches and ate in opposite corners of the kitchen, all avoiding eye contact. Afterwards, Andrew watched the man check the time on his phone several times and knew he’d have to leave for the airport soon. 

At two Neil asked “So are we done? I’ve given you everything.”

Browning shuffled some papers and dropped them on the open folder. “For now.”

“Then can I pack?”

Browning nodded. “Only what you can fit in couple bags. I’m not footing the bill to move the whole house. I’ve got to make a few  calls but you have some time. Plane doesn’t leave until seven.”

Neil hovered in his spot, looking from Browning, to Andrew and back. “Andrews flight leaves at five thirty. I’m going back with him.”

“Yea? How do you plan to get on an international flight as a missing person without being in federal custody?”

“So unflag me or whatever...” Neil shrugged.

“It takes time to process things like that. I can’t just snap my fingers and...”

“I’m going back with Andrew,” he said again, chin jutting out in a way he always thought made him seem more threatening. It didn’t.

The older looked between them and Andrew stood from his chair, jaw clenched. 

Browning eventually rolled his eyes. “Fine. I don’t want to be stuck with you any longer than I have to.”

The agent thumbed through his paperwork and shoved a sheet at Neil, a signature space marked at the bottom. It was different than the statement he’d signed. A request for name  change he could file with the court.

“I assume you have a passport?” Browning asked. “Your uncles work should be good enough to make it back. But once you’re there you’re mine. You ditch the paperwork. No more fake identities, no more running or lying. You wanted to be Neil Josten so that’s who you’re stuck with. I’ll write  a correspondence to the school week explaining you were kidnapped. You will make yourself available for questioning and for a trial if we ever have enough to put away the rest of your  fathers people. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” Neil glared at him and snatched the paperwork. Andrew noticed the way his hands were shaking even though he was clearly trying to hide it. 

“I hope you’re ready for this. Once you become Neil Josten and this information is publicized people will know your real identity. It’s not something you can take back,” added Browning. 

But Neil held his gaze, his rigid posture. He wasn’t backing out of this, no matter the small flutter of panic when he considered some of his  fathers men might still be alive, out there  somewhere , waiting. 

“You go back on your own you’re doing it on your own dime,” Browning said. “I’m sure your uncle can afford it.” 

Then the man put his coat back on and snatched the folder. He walked to the door and Neil followed him, Andrew hanging back a few paces. 

“I mean it asshole. I call, you answer.”

Neil gave him Andrew’s two fingered salute and slammed the door behind him. But when he turned  around, he was grinning. Andrew fought to keep his face impassive. It had been a long time since he’d seen that smile. 

Andrew took a couple steps closer and shoved his hands in his pockets. 

“We’re going home,” Neil said.

Andrew blinked up at him. 

“It is, right?” he asked, hesitance seeping in through the excitement.

“Is what?” asked  Andrew.

“Home.”

Andrew nodded once and held a shiver at bay when Neil grinned again, starting to brush past him towards the stairs. “I should pack, we need to leave in an hour.” 

Andrew snagged his wrist first. “Before you pack, there’s something we need to do.”

Neil tilted his head and let his arm go limp in Andrew’s hold. 

🔑

Twenty minutes later Neil was kneeling on the bathroom floor, his head over the tub while Andrew sat on the closed toilet, the shower head in one hand and his other dragging along Neil’s scalp as he rinsed the dye-remover from his hair. 

“I. ..I don’t think this was necessary. It would have grown out eventually...” said Neil, unable to ignore the feel of Andrew’s fingers scraping along his head and neck. He’d worn gloves when he applied the smelly hair cream for Neil, but his hands were unencumbered now. It felt amazing. He couldn’t ever remember anyone touching him like this before. It almost felt more intimate than the few kisses they’d shared.

“No more disguises. No more hiding,” breathed Andrew, moving the shower head to the back of his neck. 

Neil shuddered.

Andrew’s fingers tugged a clump of wet locks and he leaned in to hiss close to Neil’s ear. “Also the brown is fucking ugly.”

Neil chuckled, closing his eyes as water ran down his temples and dripped off his chin. 

After Andrew released  him he toweled off his hair. He studied himself in the mirror for only a moment and was happy when he didn’t immediately think of his father. How could he with Andrew’s standing behind him, chest pressed lightly to Neil’s shoulder and a hand still in his hair, examining his work. He only let go when Neil shivered from the cold, letting him finish scrubbing the water from his hair. 

Neil packed in record time. Only two duffels worth of clothes and toiletries, his laptop (dead for days after he neglected to charge it) and cracked phone that would have to be replaced. Or maybe he wouldn’t, thinking about the beat-up old flip phone in his back pocket. He also retrieved a few stacks of bills from under the mattress since he would need to ditch his credit card once he got back.

At three fifteen they were rocketing down the freeway in  Andrews rental. Neil would miss his car despite how little he drove it. It was the nicest thing he’d owned. Though he didn’t really, since his uncle had purchased it. Andrew pulled into the parking lot at the airport an hour later and pulled up to the rental return area. After Andrew handed over the keys and they situated their bags on their back, they made their way across the pull-through lane. A black car crossed in front of them and he turned to look at Andrew. 

“You have a  Maserati .”

Andrew didn’t look at him but his jaw twitched. 

“ _ We _ have a Maserati.” he corrected. “You paid for it.”

“I did? Why? I don’t care about cars...”

Andrew chanced a glance at  him and Neil’s heart stuttered. He wanted to kiss him again. Instead, he followed Andrew through the sliding glass doors. They would have to hurry to make the flight. At least Andrew let him use his own phone to buy a plane ticket so they wouldn’t have to wait in line.

“You shot your mouth off on TV about the Ravens and they trashed our cars. I had to get a new one,” explained the blond.

He thought he should apologize but the other part of the statement seemed more concerning. “I was on TV? Other than  that one morning show you told me about?”

“Post team interviews. You were coaches own little PR nightmare.”

Neil tried to remember but was coming up blank. They dropped their bags off and checked into their gate. Neil kept his  backpack but Andrew had to check his single bag because he apparently stored knives inside. As they were waiting to board the wheels in Neil’s mind kept turning. 

“I don’t understand why I would agree to do any interviews...I knew what would happen if I got caught.”

“Your attitude problem out-weighted your need for self-preservation, apparently.”

Neil scowled at  him but Andrew’s jaw only twitched in amusement. Instead of explaining further he pulled the smartphone. He still had one like Neils, he’d shown it to him the day before. He filed that to ask about later – why he had both. 

Andrew pulled up the youtube app and typed something in. He handed the phone to Neil who turned it sideways and scrolled down the videos. They were all clips, of him. The top one was a compilation of video clips. It was titled ‘ _ Neil Josten Drags the competition _ ’ posted by a  nhemmick .

Neil held the phone close to his face and listened. It was his voice, his face, his mannerisms, but the things he was saying were shocking. His mother would be turning in her grave if she knew he’d drawn this much attention to himself. 

The video ended and his cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. Andrew was watching him  carefully so he gave the phone back with a wave of his hand. He’d watch more later but right now the line was moving, closer and closer to freedom

“I’m sure they deserved it...” he muttered sheepishly. 

Andrew huffed a little and shoved the phone back in his pocket. 

Their seats on the plane were towards the back but luckily it seemed devoid of small children so he hoped he could sleep for most of it. The moment they strapped in Neil noticed the bouncing of Andrews leg, the pen he’d brought out and was twirling idly between his knuckles. The blond worried his bottom  lip and his eyes were set firmly on the seat in front of him, unblinking. Neil was struck another memory. Standing across from Andrew in an airport. He’d given Andrew his name – Nathaniel. And Andrew had confirmed his fear of flying – of falling. 

“You’re afraid of heights,” he said quietly, turning a little.

Andrew cut his eyes sideways, his head following more slowly. 

“Do you still go to the roof?” Neil asked. 

Something flickered across Andrew's face, but it was gone a moment later. Then the pen stopped moving. “You remember more about the roof?”

Neil cast his gaze down, suddenly unable to hold Andrew’s intent stare. “I’ve been dreaming about a roof for months. I didn’t realize it was a memory until a few days ago.”

Andrew seemed like he wanted to press further, for more details but he didn’t.  Instead, he turned back and settled into his seat, resuming the motions with the pen. 

“I don’t go to the roof anymore.”

“Why not?”

Andrew swallowed and then closed his eyes as the plane began to catapult down the runway. There was a great heaving surge of gravity and they lifted off the ground. 

“I don’t need to go there to feel fear anymore,” he finally answered, though Neil couldn’t understand him over the roar of the wind outside.

_ Because I feel it all the time.  _

‘Cause I’m not in a right state of mind; I just wish I had strength to admit it   
My stubbornness will put up a fight, but I don’t deserve to win it   
I’m left in the dark pondering my mistakes, but in the light I swear I will deny it all.


	4. Back to Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys are back in town. Neil settles back into his old/new life.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> All credit to Nora, I own nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter, enjoy!
> 
> ~*~
> 
> CHAPTER RATING: M (Mild smut, canon mentions of the drugging at Edens, scars, homophobia)

_I am the host of this hostility_   
_I’m the master magician that makes you believe_   
_I’m real, I’m not fake, but in reality I’m a lying man_   
_My life’s become this grand game of deception_   
_My mind’s ignored all my heart’s good intentions_   
_We all feel this tension_   
_We all have our own illusions_

_ End of January, Columbia, South Carolina. _

Their flight had one stop but  luckily they didn’t have to change planes. Though that meant they spent thirteen-hour  turbulent hours in the air to reach Columbia. Apparently, upstate regional was closer to Palmetto but Andrew had left his car in Columbia. Neil followed behind him in the airport, looking over his shoulder every few minutes. Finally, Andrew grabbed the strap of his backpack and pulled him along to the baggage claim.

It was probably best to have a buffer, Neil thought. He still didn’t know how he would talk to his old team. Though the memories kept trickling in like a downspout straining with clogged up leaves. It all still felt very abstract. He didn’t feel like  _ Neil _ . He still felt like Abram. Like Stefan and Chris and Brian and James. He still felt like a liar ....a runaway. 

When Andrew said they would go to his house in Columbia first it released some of the tension in Neil’s chest. Everything had happened so fast. He didn’t regret his decision to come back, but it still felt sudden. Like he hadn’t processed everything. 

When they finally arrived, it was late in the evening. The last dregs of pinks and purples had faded when the plane landed and now the sky was vast and pitch black, pinpricks of stars twinkling overhead. It was a little warmer than it had been in Brighton, but Neil could still see his breath puffing in front of him as they climbed from the Maserati. He almost didn’t want to leave the warmth of the car – the comfort of the familiar leather seats that smelled faintly of cigarettes and mint air freshener. He’d fidgeted on the drive over, wringing his hands and then using his right index finger to trace outlines of keys in his left palm. Andrew caught on about ten minutes in and snatched his hand, digging his thumb into Neil’s palm so hard it nearly hurt. 

But as much as he liked the old familiarity of the luxury car, Neil was dead on his feet. They both were. Andrew had chain-smoked through three cigarettes before getting in, the plane having fried his nerves. Neil at least managed to nap on and off but he suspected Andrew had been awake and bracing himself against the uncomfortable armrests the entire flight. 

As the blond twisted his own key in the lock to the suburban home, he used his foot to kick the door in, immediately tossing his duffel to the side without a care. Once Neil was inside, Andrew locked the two deadbolts behind them and rounded on Neil. He was standing so close Neil could see the shadows marring the pale skin under his eyes. 

“There is a bathroom down there,” said Andrew, pointing down the hall towards the back of the house. “And a bedroom. You can sleep there or on the couch, I don’t care. Don’t disappear in the middle of the night. If you make me chase you  again, I  _ will _ kill you.”

Neil nodded, a little numb with déjà vu. He dropped his bags on the floor and explored the house slowly. A shower cut on upstairs, so he waited until it turned off to go into the downstairs bathroom. He was quick, exhaustion seeping into his bones and making his movement stiff and requiring too much effort. At some point while he was in the shower Andrew must have come back down because when he emerged there were clean sheets folded neatly next to his bags, which now sat atop the inviting looking mattress. When he paused to listen, he only heard silence. Andrew must already be in bed. 

Neil changed the sheets and settled between them. They were a little scratchy against his exposed arms and cheek and reminded him of countless hotels he’d stayed at with his mother. The expensive sheets his uncle had provided were leagues softer, but these were more familiar. He turned on his side to stare at the dimly lit expanse of the room. An end table was next to his head, a small metal waste bin next to that. On top of the table there were a few magazines and a black alarm clock with one of the silver discs on top missing. He doubted it worked anymore. 

One second, two and then three. Neil bolted upright, panic in his chest. There was a body to his back. _ ‘Mom?’ ‘Not quite’ _ . Neil kicked his way out of the covers and nearly fell to the floor, legs tangled. He stood and looked down at the bed, then the room. He had been in this room before. In this bed. but not alone. Andrew never mentioned him with anyone else. Why had ....he strained his memory, closing his eyes and screwing up his face in concentration. Loud music, the bass pounding in his chest, bright lights. Someone’s tongue down his throat and hands on his waist. Someone with black hair. A sweet but sour taste in his mouth, his head throbbing. Andrew told him that he’d had him drugged but he never mentioned how. But the vague outline of the person in his mind definitely wasn’t Andrew.

His feet carried him to the living  room and he paced across the area rug in front of the television. Fear fluttered in his chest and he thought he should be angry, but he wasn’t. Whatever happened, Neil Josten must have let it go a long time ago. 

With his hands on his hips, Neil paused and looked down the hall. The door was still cracked  open and he could see the corner of the bed. What was he so afraid of?  _ Not remembering...not knowing _ , his mind supplied. He stood looking at it for a solid ten minutes; then turned to look at the couch and the giant glass window behind it, next to the front door. He knew no one was chasing him but the idea of sleeping out in the open still rankled him. Neil worried his lip between his teeth for another few minutes before snagging one of the throw pillows from the recliner and heading upstairs. He carefully rapped the back of his knuckles on the door. There were three there, all shut, and as he pondered what was behind the others Andrew’s voice sounded behind the door. 

“It’s unlocked.”

Neil pushed the door open, closing it with a quiet click. He held the pillow a little behind him and glanced around Andrew’s room. It wasn’t familiar at all and somehow that settled him, his heart returning to a normal rate. 

“I can’t sleep in that room.”

Andrew was sitting up in bed, hands clasped together in his lap. Neil wondered why he wasn’t asleep. The lights were off but a soft glow from the porch lamp below filtered through the thin curtains and he could just make out Andrew’s still form in the dark. He stayed silent. 

“Can I stay in here?” he wondered, feeling stupid for even  asking. Feeling stupid for his paranoia making him react like a scared child. 

Andrew said nothing so Neil took it as an invitation. The bed was situated under the window, so Neil moved to the other side of the room and dropped the pillow next to the wall. He slid down to the floor and lay on his side. The carpet was thick and smelled new, much nicer than some of the floors he’d slept on in his life. 

“What are you doing?” grunted Andrew.

Neil propped himself up on an elbow to look across the room, Andrew was mirroring his position on the bed, hazel eyes glinting in the low light. 

“Uh...you didn’t say no so I.....do you want me to go?”

Andrew rolled his eyes in the dark and threw back the blankets. He shifted one pillow out from under his head and pushed it to the other side of the mattress. “Get in, moron.”

Neil sat  up, his eyes wide. Did they do this? Did they share a bed? When he tried to recall those memories he came up short – only remembering his  mother's back a few inches from his own and the incident that must have happened downstairs, which made him shudder.

“You want me to sleep in your bed?” he asked aloud. 

“Unless you want your spine to feel like someone stepped on it tomorrow. Get in. Just don’t touch me when I’m asleep,” Andrew replied shortly.

Neil slowly stood and padded silently across the room. Andrew shifted over as far as he could, back to the wall. It was unnecessary. It was a double  bed and they were both small enough to fit easily. Neil stayed on the outer edge anyways. When he was settled Andrew threw the blankets over the two of them and they lay there, staring at each other in the dark, like moths circling the nearest source of light. 

For a moment Andrew’s eyes wandered to Neil’s arms, laying in front of him over the mattress, hands on the pillow next to his face. He was looking at the scars there. Cuts and burns that had healed but covered his arms from wrist to elbow, left exposed by the baggy t-shirt he’d worn to bed. He wasn’t used to being around other people when he slept and hadn’t thought to hide them. When he noticed Andrew looking, he shoved them under his pillow and hazel eyes once again locked on blue. 

He didn’t want Andrew to ask about them again so instead he said, “I couldn’t sleep in that room.”

Andrew said nothing, only shifted in the bed. They were a foot apart but Neil could smell mint and soap on him and the pleasant scent of freshly laundered sheets. 

“Was there....anyone else? While I was here.”

Andrew finally closed his eyes. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean...I know something was going on between us,” said Neil. “But was there anyone else?” 

“Not that I am aware of. You continually said you didn’t swing. Why?”

“I remembered something. A club.  Some kind of powder . You said you drugged me. Maybe it was that night? But someone...it wasn’t you...kissed me. They had the drugs in their  mouth I think and I tried to fight back but I couldn’t.”

Andrews eyes snapped open and he pushed himself back on his elbow, glaring down at Neil. 

“Who?”

“I don’t...I can’t remember their face. But I remember being...afraid I guess.”

“What else did they do?” Urgency rose in Andrew’s voice and Neil recoiled a little.

“I...I don’t know. It’s all blurry. But whoever...I think I woke up with them here...in that room...”

Andrew hissed a string of curses in German, sitting up fully. Neil could feel him shaking. “Andrew....what are you...”

Muscled limbs reached over and around as Andrew draped his body across Neil’s shoulder to reach for the nightstand. Neil’s face was smashed into the pillow and he was pressed harder into the  mattress but Andrew released him a second later, phone in hand. Neil pushed himself against the headboard, eyeing the blond with worried confusion. Had something...worse happened? Wouldn’t Andrew have told him?

“Andrew...talk to me...what’s go...”

But Andrew had the phone up to his ear. It was after one in the morning, but someone picked up after just two shrill rings. 

“ANDREW?! Thank FUCK...do you have any idea how worried we’ve been?! Where the fuck are you!?”

The voice on the other end was loud and over-animated, a stark contrast to the eerie calm of Andrews exterior, though anger darkened his eyes. 

The goalkeeper shook with barely concealed fury, his hand curling, a white knuckled grip on the phone. “The first time we took Neil to Eden’s - what did you do?”

“Andrew? What’s going on ....are you okay? You sound spooked,” said the voice.

“Answer the fucking question.”

“I didn’t...why are you asking? You’re not making a lot of sense...”

“ _ Nicky _ ,” Andrew said darkly. 

“Aright...alright...I didn’t do anything,” Nicky exclaimed frantically. “I mean other than what you told me to. I kept him on the dance floor and gave him the drugs.”

Even in the dim room Neil could see the way Andrew’s features contorted, reflecting the most emotion he’d seen since Andrew had shown up on his doorstep. “He spent the night in your room. What did you do?”

“What? Nothing! Andrew...I wouldn’t ....he was asleep. You know that. He got himself knocked out and we just slept...” whined Nicky. 

Andrews free hand curled on his thigh, making a fist. Neil was leaned in close enough that he could hear every word of the conversation on both ends. 

“Andrew...we’re really worried about you. When are you coming home?” pleaded Nicky. “Where are you, I’ll come get you right now if you want...”

In the background Neil could hear other voices but couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. 

“How did you give him the drugs?” asked Andrew, clearly fighting to keep himself calm.

Nicky paused and shushed whoever was talking on his end. “What?”

“Nicky. How did you give him the drugs? I will not ask again.”

Another pause. When Nicky’s voice returned it was unsteady and hesitant. “I....he was struggling. He wouldn’t take it so I...I just kissed him. That’s all. I had the drugs in my mouth, and I kissed him. Why are you asking about this now Andrew it was ages ago and Neil’s gone....”

Andrew pulled the phone away for a few seconds and Neil thought he might throw it. But  ultimately, he put it back up to his ear and said in a low, dangerous voice, “When I get back, we are going to have a conversation about sexual assault, and if you survive the conversation, you are never going to do it again.”

He hung up and tossed the phone off the bed. The device slid across the carpeted floor a few feet away, ringing several times more, but Andrew ignored it. Several minutes later he was still tense and shaking. Neil reached out, hand a few centimeters from Andrew’s bicep. 

“No.”

“You didn’t know.....” Neil stopped his movement and dropped his hand back to the bed. After another beat he said “It doesn’t matter. It was just a kiss.”

Andrew turned like lightning, even faster than Neil has seen him move in the goal during his research. His hand clamped around Neil’s throat, slamming him down to the bed. Neil blinked up at him but kept his hands to his sides. Andrew's mouth opened and closed several  times but words seem to evade him. He squeezed tighter while Neil only stared up at him with curiosity, making no move to break free. 

“Fight back,” he snarled, shaking him a little.

Neil craned his neck just a little to make it easier to talk. “Why? You won’t hurt me...”

“You don’t know  _ anything _ ,” he squeezed tighter. 

“I know I’m safe with you,” he said, voice slightly strained now. 

Andrew’s resolve crumpled, the last dregs of fury draining, leaving behind the ghost of a scowl. He loosened his grip. Neil’s eyes flickered to his lips just a second before Andrew’s sank down to close the distance. Neil groaned into the kiss, if that’s what you could call it, the noise obscenely loud in the quiet of the room. As their mouths melded, tongues prodded and licked into each other, teeth clashed and lips swelled, Andrew lifted his body to roll on top of Neil. He straddled the strikers hips, keeping their bodies from touching by barely an inch. Andrew’s hand left Neil’s throat, sliding past his jaw to his hair, threading between the tangle of curls to yank his head back for a better angle. Neil sucked in a breath that Andrew swallowed and craned his neck up to deepen the kiss. Andrew’s hands roamed, grabbing Neil’s arms and pushing them above his head. His hands slid up smooth skin on the underside of Neil’s arms until they found scarred wrists. He gripped them for a moment, thumbs brushing across the mutilated flesh, and then pressed his fingers down. Neil locked their hands together and tried to keep from bucking his hips into Andrew. 

They kissed for what could have been minutes, or hours. Breaths catching in the dark, lips sliding together wetly, teeth biting and bruising. Andrew withdrew enough that Neil could dip his head down, kissing along Andrew’s jaw. He squeezed their hands together and when Andrew lifted his head to give him better access, Neil planted a line of open-mouthed kisses down Andrew neck. Andrew shivered and yanked his head away.

“You’re neck fetish is not attractive,” he murmured. 

“You like it,” Neil smiled against his lips. “I like that you like it.”

Andrew made a noise akin to a growl and released his fingers. His left hand traveled downwards, landing on Neil’s hip and Neil jerked at the feeling, pressing up, wanting more. Andrew’s hand slid just under the fabric of his shirt and he sighed contentedly. Then he pulled back, pushing his head into the pillow to take a breath. 

“Can I touch you?” asked Neil, raising his hand to tap a finger to Andrew’s temple. “Just here.”

Andrew nodded, kissed him softly. “Just there.”

Scarred knuckles wove in golden hair, fingers tugging and  Andrew's mouth returned with a vengeance. Andrew’s nails dug into Neil’s side and his mouth took him apart piece by piece. Neil’s lips were swollen and bruised, saliva smeared from the corners of his mouth. There were cooling trails left along his own jaw and neck and when Andrew’s nose nudged at the wide collar of his shirt, teeth biting down on his clavicle, he gasped. 

“Andrew.....touch me....”

Andrew licked over the place he’d bitten and looked up, a searching, heated expression on his features. Neil stared up at him through long lashes and blinked slowly, nodding and raising his hips encouragingly. He was terrified, honestly. But his body seemed to be unafraid, knowing what it wanted. Had they done this before? It felt so familiar. For the first time in. ..he couldn’t know how long. ..Neil felt like he wasn’t alone. Like he was  _ seen _ . 

Besides, there wasn’t any point in trying to hide how affected he was by this. There was no way Andrew hadn’t noticed the tenting in his shorts and when the goalkeeper moved just right, Neil could feel his hardness straining against his sweatpants as it brushed against his abdomen. After what Andrew told him about his past he was hesitant. But this felt so familiar. So right. And he was sure Andrew wanted it too.

Andrew kissed him several times, hard, like he was punctuating a sentence. Neil could see the wheels spinning in his head. 

“I want you to touch me...” he said again, trying to ease the blond's doubt. 

Andrew’s hand moved like molasses, slow but solid pressure. It left his hip and lingered momentarily on the waistband of his pants before slipping beneath. Then crept lower, beneath his boxer briefs and over the small patch of tight curls there. Their eyes were locked as Andrew’s hand curled around his erection with a strong grip. Neil’s mouth dropped  open and he resisted the urge to let his eyes roll back in his head. He wanted to watch. See the minute changes in Andrew’s expression, no longer blank but clouded over with desire and something else he couldn’t identify. 

Neil pressed his hips up again and Andrew’s grip tightened, stroking up. This time his eyes did roll  back and he groaned. Letting go of his other hand, Andrew twisted fingers in Neil’s hair, pulling his head back into the pillow so he could suck at the hollow of his throat, hand working slow and rough, tugging firmly. Andrew let go briefly to spit in his hand, and when it returned the slick, wet, heat was nearly too much. Neil bit his lip to try and keep another moan at bay but Andrew’s teeth on his throat and a particularly sharp tug made it impossible.

“Let me hear you...” Andrew, said quietly against the thin skin below his ear.  _ I haven’t heard you in a year. _

He stopped choking down the sounds, letting them spill from his lips, embarrassingly loud. But he didn’t care  as long as it meant Andrew would keep touching him. As long as his world was narrowed down to this bed, these hands, nothing else mattered.

Andrew’s fingers slipped from his hair and reappeared a second later at the hem of his shirt, pushing it up until it pooled around his shoulders. The mouth wreaking havoc on his throat dragged along his collar, over his shirt, down the rough scarring across his abdomen. Andrew scrunched himself down on the bed to kiss the tattered landscape of Neil’s torso and Neil buried both hands in Andrew's hair, scratching along his scalp in approval. 

“ _ Fuc _ _ k _ ...Andrew ..... ”

A wet trail skimmed from his ribs to his hip as Andrew continued his downward journey. And then his mouth was gone. And the pressure was gone, only a thumb and forefinger gripping him at his base. A strangled sound left Neil’s throat as he craned his neck up to look down his body, taut with anticipation. Andrew was watching him with molten gold eyes and lips so red the rest of him looked pale. He raised a single eyebrow, a question Neil thought. And there was only one answer he ever wanted to give. 

“Yes,” hissed Neil. 

He was rewarded with the sight of Andrew’s lips planting a quick kiss to his leaking tip, and then the same lips sinking around him as his cock disappeared in the wet heat of Andrew’s mouth. He swore loudly, gasped Andrew’s name, his fingers tightened in blond hair, probably pulling out a few strands. This feeling was new but welcome and something he thought he wanted to feel every day. Something dangerous bubbled inside of him and he spread his legs farther, tilted his hips higher. A hand on his hip held him in place.

Andrew bobbed between his thighs and Neil’s breaths became broken and thin. He watched Andrew hollow out his cheeks and when hazel eyes flicked in his direction his mouth dropped open in a moan. His neck hurt, but he couldn’t look away. Just kept watching moist lips sink down on him again and again, sucking so hard his eyes watered. 

“ _ Andrew _ ....I’m .... . I’m...”

But his pace only quickened and the dam broke. Neil came with his lips shaped around a silent  cry, the sound catching somewhere in his throat. Andrew held his hips in place so he wouldn’t gag. He stayed there for a minute until Neil stilled and then swallowed, pulling off him with a wet  _ pop _ . 

Neil’s limbs remained cemented in place while Andrew fixed his underwear and shorts, pulled his shirt back down, climbing back up his body. He welcomed the kiss, opening his mouth and not minding the taste of himself on Andrew’s tongue. Andrew was still hard, his cock pressing against the crease of Neil’s thigh while they kissed. When he pulled away Neil let his hands drop back to brush against the short hairs at the back of Andrew’s neck. 

“Do you want.....can I touch you?” he asked quietly, knowing his cheeks would be enflamed if his whole body wasn’t still burning. 

Andrew kissed him again and then pulled back completely, crawling the rest of the way over and taking half of the sheets with him. 

“I’ll be right back.”

Neil managed to push himself up on his elbows and yank the covers back on the bed, watching Andrew leave. 

He returned seven minutes later, according to the clock. And when he climbed over Neil, Neil could pick out the renewed smell of toothpaste. Neil turned in the bed to face him. After a few moments of staring, Neil sighed and rolled a little closer. 

“Have we ever done that before?” he asked. 

Andrew shook his head just once. “Not like that.”

“Oh.”

Andrew reached out and his thumb traced the scar curving up along Neil’s exposed collar. “Did you decide you don’t swing after all?”

“I’ve decided I want to do that with you again sometime,” he said, unabashed. “If you want to.”

Andrew’s eyes narrowed, as if searching for a lie, and his hand dropped to the pillow. Neil moved his head an inch so he could press a kiss to Andrew’s fingertip. 

“Ninety four percent...”

Neil cocked his head at best he could against the pillow and smiled. He wasn’t sure he knew what that meant, but he had an idea. He fell asleep smiling for the first time since he could remember. 

🔑

_ End of February, Palmetto, South Carolina.  _

Neil wondered if he  deserved all of this. How everything had led him to a life where he had people that cared about him this much. 

The days after they arrived back in South Carolina were a whirlwind and even now, weeks later, Neil was still trying to settle back in to his new/old life. 

After leaving Columbia, Andrew contacted  Wymack and called a meeting with the former Foxes. 

_ “Don’t you have freshman this year?” asked Neil.  _

_ “You do not need to meet them now, trust me. The longer you can put it off the better,” explained Andrew.  _

After a reunion that was more awkward than it was emotional, due to Neil trying, and failing, to explain himself. Andrew had taken over to fill in some of the story. And while his old teammates had hugged him, patted his shoulder, cried, and welcomed him back, he could tell they were a little wary. 

Towards the end of the first  meeting he’d been so overwhelmed he nearly had a panic attack, Andrew pulling him into  Wymacks office and pushing him into a hair by the back of his neck. His hand had stayed in place the entire time the blond negotiated with their coach, suggesting Neil stay with Abby for the time being. That he wasn’t ready to come back to the dorms just yet. It was true. He wasn’t ready to see them every day, face the inevitable interrogation by the freshman who had less tact and less care for a stranger they’d never met. 

Wymack and the other upperclassman checked in on him frequently, filling him in with updates and trying to make casual conversation, occasionally bringing up the past.  Wymack had apparently been in touch with the Dean of the school and the FBI and successfully gotten him re-enrolled, his credits from England transferred, and printed up a new contract for him to sign for the Foxes. And through it all memories leaked between the cracks, bouncing around in his head like snapshots of a film reel. 

On the 7 th night of his return, Kevin came for him. Neil hadn’t been sleeping anyways and it had been a relief to step foot on the Foxhole court. Though it was after eleven and dark out, he could still picture the looming structure in the sun. Glittering white and bright orange, standing out amongst the other buildings on campus like a beacon. 

His first practice left him out of breath and sore, but he’d exited the court grinning. Andrew had clawed at his face, as though he wanted to rip the expression away, but it was useless. 

They came for him every night after that, letting him practice under the cover of night, relearning footwork and drills without the added stress of being watched or judged by the rest of the team. When he finally did step back onto the court it was with a mild confidence that only grew when he realized he could out-score their newest striker recruits (Jack and Sheena) who were not happy about him being there at all. That first day almost ended in a fight if it hadn't been for Matt shoving Jack away from Neil and Dan banishing him from the practice early. When they passed later in the hall on the way to the dorms Jack at flipped him off. Neil only rolled his eyes. He hadn’t survived running from the mob, running from himself, and everything in between to be intimidated by some jumped up freshman with an ego too big for his head. 

Once he’d grown used to the  teams presence, the dorms were where he was most comfortable, even if it was a tight fit.  Wymack assured him they were working on acquiring another room, but in the meantime, there were already four in each of the boys: Kevin, Nicky, Andrew, and Aaron in one, and Matt rooming with the three freshman boys since he was less likely to kill them. But that meant there wasn’t a space for Neil.  Wymack had turned up with a cot the day they moved him back in, but most nights he shared Andrew’s bed to the other occupant's great puzzlement. The dorms had apparently been remodeled during the summer break and now the bunk beds had doubles on the bottom and singles on the top. After returning, Andrew had banished Nicky to the top. Of course, that was after he’d punched his cousin so hard in the cheek he’d toppled over their desk to the floor. A silent exchange passed between the two and Nicky, for once in his life, knew to keep his mouth shut and nodded frantically in understanding. Neil could only surmise it was the conclusion of the conversation they’d started on the phone in Columbia that night and was glad that all seemed to be forgotten afterwards – or at least wasn’t brought up again. Though Nicky often stopped from reaching out for Neil when Andrew was around, even if he’d just been moving to ruffle Neil’s hair.

But despite the routine, the familiarity of it all, part of him still felt wrong. He still felt as though he didn’t belong. 

Which was probably why he found himself avoiding everyone towards the end of February. He’d been having nightmares for a solid week, waking Andrew up in the middle of the night. Sometimes they made coffee or went for a drive. Sometimes Andrew went back to sleep and let Neil pace or smoke out the window. Sometimes he dragged him up to the roof to kiss him senseless until he couldn’t think anymore. 

It was a Wednesday at the end of February and his first game since his return was only days away. Neil’s nerves were predictably getting the better of him. Not to mention as soon as he played the world would know that he was alive.  Wymack assured him he would keep him away from pre and post-game interviews for as long as possible, but he knew he couldn’t avoid the media forever. 

So, instead of going to the cafeteria for lunch he headed to the court to swing balls at an empty goal, as he’d been doing the last couple weeks whenever he had a free moment. There was nothing significant about the day, not really. Other than the fact that while he was pushing through the court doors his mind suddenly flooded with memories. The sensation nearly knocked him off his feet and he sank onto one of the benches feeling weak and slightly nauseous. And just like that, he remembered everything. He remembered Millport and Andrew picking him up from the airport, disguised as his brother. He remembered trips to Edens and movie nights with the upperclassman. He remembered the girls covering his tattoo with makeup and Wymack keeping him from cutting it off. And unfortunately he remembered the riot, leaving them behind, leaving Andrew behind.  _ Thank you. You were amazing _ . 

He felt too much too quickly, like  all of his nerve ends were on fire. He remembered the cuts of Lola’s knife, the burns from the lighter. His  father's cleaver making shallow cuts along his ribs. He remembered the gunshot – the stray bullet that clipped his side when his  uncles men burst in. And then...nothing. Nothing until he woke in a house in London, surrounded by strangers with strange voices. 

“ _ I remember.... _ ” he whispered, to no one in particular. 

He remembered everything. Neil pushed at the wetness forming at the corner of his eyes and stood, his legs shaky. 

“I remember...” he said again, louder this time. “I remember...I remember...”

His hands were shaking so badly he nearly dropped his phone, struggling to flip it open and press his thumbs to the keys. He  opened Andrew’s contact and sent a simple text. 

  1. _The roof._



And then he ran. He didn’t bother changing back into his jeans, which was better really. He could run faster in his gym shorts and a hoodie even if his bare legs were numb with cold by the  time he reached the tower. He pushed through the door, letting it slam after him, and jogged over to the edge. Once he was still, he leaned forward and pressed his palms over his knees, sucking in a deep breath. The cold clenched around his lungs and made it nearly impossible, but by the time Andrew burst through the door a few minutes later his heart was calm again. Looking over the edge of the roof felt less like falling and more like flying.

Andrew’s eyes immediately scanned the rooftop for a threat, head craning to look around Neil. When he finally reached him, he pressed his hands to Neil’s biceps, then grabbed his chin and turned his face both ways, clearly looking for an injury. When he finally let go, Neil could see his chest heaving, little white  puffs from his mouth coming quicker than they should. 

“The fuck, Neil?” Andrew snarled, digging out his cigarettes from his back pocket. “I just ran out of the middle of a class because I thought someone was trying to fucking kidnap you again.”

Neil winced a little. He knew Andrew could care less about missing a lecture, but his chest clenched when he thought about how that text must have worried the goalkeeper. In hindsight, even without Neil’s history it was vague enough to induce panic. He muttered an apology and tentatively reached out to pinch the fabric of Andrews coat between his fingers. Andrew cut his eyes towards the gesture and then back to Neil, one hand squeezing the cigarettes a little too tightly. But he didn’t pull  away, so Neil guided them towards the edge of the tower. 

The air was frigid but thankfully the wind was nonexistent, though that didn’t stop the red from creeping onto both of their cheeks.  _ It was cold that day too _ , Neil thought.

Neil looked down at the gravel they were standing on, then to Andrew. He tugged his sleeve. “Figured we could do this again without the nervous breakdown....”

Andrew’s head tipped up, almost imperceptibly. But his hand that had been crushing the cigarettes loosened and they fell from his grip, landing on the ground silently. He stepped closer, forcing Neil to bend his arm to keep a grip on his jacket. 

“You remember...” said Andrew, eyes searching, searching....

Neil sucked in a breath, “I remember.”

When Andrew’s fingers caught his neck they were cold and trembling, so Neil reached up to cover it with his own. 

“Andrew.....yes or no?”

The sun peeked out behind a puff of gray clouds and below them someone shouted, laughter floating up. But Andrew’s gaze didn’t waver. 

“Yes.”

When they kissed, Neil could feel the final mask fall, cracking behind repair. He would never be anyone other than Neil Josten again. No more hiding. No more lying. No more running.

🔑

Later that night, Neil wandered into Matt’s room where he was hosting their bi-weekly movie night, something they apparently started last year after he left. Surprisingly, everyone was there, and Andrew followed along without a single complaint or dirty look. Even Aaron, who hadn’t been there the previous movie, was wedged in the armchair next to the couch. Though judging by the scowl, the quick fingered texts he was sending, and Nicky’s teasing, Katelyn had other plans that night. 

Even the freshmen were already there by the time Andrew and Neil arrived with Kevin. They were spread out across the floor, Jack and Sheena whispering with matching  conspiratorial grins as they leaned with their backs against the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room. 

Bags of chips rattled, beer cans clinked, a wine bottle was passed around. The Foxes were talking in hushed voices, but the volume slowly rose as they all tried to talk over each other. No one really looked up when they  entered and Andrew guided Neil towards the small love-seat on the opposite side of the room with a hand twisted in his hood. They turned to face the room and waited for Kevin to scoot over so they could cram onto the last cushion. Neil leaned over to whisper something to Andrew. Andrew’s hand snaked up to clamp around the back of his neck, giving a warning squeeze but Neil didn’t miss the way the corner of his mouth twitched. He grinned. 

When he picked up on the silence, he turned his attention back towards the room. Everyone was watching them – the curious freshman, holding fistfuls of popcorn  halfway to their mouths, the girls with knowing smiles and Matt with a grin that matched Neil’s. Nicky had covered his own mouth, making a valiant effort to keep it shut. Only Aaron seemed irritated, his eyes on his brother and slightly narrowed. Even Kevin was staring, looking more amused than annoyed for once. 

“What?” snarked Neil, though his tone was far from intimidating when he couldn’t wipe the smile from his face. 

He felt Andrew sit behind him but kept standing, facing the Foxes. 

“What?” he repeated. 

Allison seemed to be the only one brave enough to break the silence, her smile cat-like. “Sooo.....are we watching a movie with a sappy love story, or are we spending the night listening to you two regale us with your own? Because personally I vote for the latter.”

It took a great deal of effort not to react. He knew the team had picked up on something between them. Andrew had flown across an ocean to find him and he’d been sleeping in the  goalkeepers bed for over a week. Of course, they thought something was going on. But the was the first time any of them had mentioned  it out loud. He didn’t mind really...except maybe the way the freshmen were watching them now, looking far too curious. 

Before he could respond Jack leaned forward with an ugly sneer. “You two are fucking queer?”

Aaron, who had gone back to his phone, didn’t look up and when he  spoke he sounded surprisingly unbothered. “Both of those things are true.”

Neil’s eyes jumped from teammate to teammate, gauging their reactions. Some seemed unsurprised, others giddy. Nicky  look like he might burst like a fucking pinata. 

Renee, he noticed, was smiling serenely. Neil wondered how long she’d known, and if she’d figured it out herself or if Andrew told her. He also took note that Kevin didn’t have a reaction, other than going to pick his nails in an effort to be left out of any further conversation about the topic. 

When he reached Allison  again she was  smugger than Neil had ever seen her. 

“Some of you fuckers owe a shit ton of money,” she said, pointing a manicured finger at the older Foxes. “I take cash or credit.”

It seemed to break the tension because now they were smiling and groaning, offering counter arguments. Neil chanced a  glace at Andrew, who was staring past them, watching the silent commercials on the TV. 

“ So, what was the  bet ?” Neil interrupted. “Because if part of it was that I’m gay, you’ll still lose. I’m not attracted to anyone else.”

“No?” said Dan, leaning forward, eyes glinting. “Only the love of your life Andrew Minyard?”

“Your knight with shining knives?” asked Nicky dreamily, before quickly leaning back on the armrest to hide behind Matt in case one of those knives sailed in his direction. 

The others laugh but the moment couldn’t be enjoyed for long. 

“How many flamers are on this team?” asked Sheena, her nose turned up like she’d smelled something foul. “I didn’t sign up to play for the fucking pride brigade.”

“Out!” Dan said immediately, flicking her wrists at the younger Foxes. “All of you. This has officially become an upperclassman event.  Freshman, make your own fun tonight. And you two...” she pointed at Sheena and Jack who pushed themselves off the floor. “Cut the homophobic shit or the only thing in flames will be your contracts.”

Jack flipped her  off but they left without further argument. Some of the others were a little more reluctant. Including the two other boys whose room thy were currently in.

“Aw...come on cap,” said Josie, one of their new backliners. “Why are we getting kicked out just because ass and hole can’t play nice?”

“Learn to control your herd, freshman,” called Allison, as the last were shuffled from the room. 

Neil waited until the door closed to look back up. He hadn’t taken his seat yet, still standing awkwardly, wringing his hands. He told Andrew he would tell them tonight, though now it seemed harder than he thought it would be a few hours ago. 

“You  remember,” Renee said quietly, effectively halting his thoughts. 

Neil nodded once and almost felt the collective intake of breath. “I....I’m sorry I kept so much from you guys. I didn’t want to put you in danger. I never wanted ....Andrew said you came for me, in Baltimore. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. But thank you...for coming for me. Thank you for everything.”

He wanted to say more but the words lodged in his throat and for one ridiculous moment, he thought he might cry. 

Matt was up first, he had tears in his eyes. Nicky cried openly, silent tears streaming down his cheeks. Dan looked on the verge of tears when she stood. The three of them crossed the small space around the coffee table and wrapped around Neil like a cloak. The others followed one by one. Even Kevin stood and put his hand fondly on Neils head. Nicky reached an arm out and yanked Aaron in despite his to his objections – the others laughed as he fought to escape from under  Nickys elbow. No one tried to bring Andrew in, which was just as well. Someone getting stabbed would probably ruin the moment. But when Neil's arm left the middle of the huddle and reached out, even though he couldn’t see Andrew, he felt a familiar hand take his own and squeeze, just once before letting go. 

It was over after less than a minute, Neil claiming he couldn’t breathe but  really he thought he wouldn’t be able to hold it together much longer. 

They settled back to the movie, Dan cutting the lights out before she re-took her position on Matt’s lap. Andrew had left enough room for Neil to squeeze between him and Kevin, but Neil sat down on the floor in front of him. When he leaned back, Andrews legs parted automatically to make room. A few bowls of popcorn made the rounds and once handed to Neil he leaned back to offer some to Andrew. Andrew ignored him so Neil shrugged, sinking back into the cushion with Andrew’s knees bracketing his shoulders. At some point Andrew leaned forward, elbows to thighs, and slipped his fingers into Neil’s hair. They were aware that the group was watching them more than the  movie but it didn’t matter. They had a lot of time to make up for. Neil sighed, set aside the popcorn and curled one arm around Andrew’s calf to grab just above his knee. Then he tipped to the side to lean his cheek against the warm skin beneath Andrew’s pants. The warmth he found there reflected the warmth in his gut. The warmth of family and finally being back where he belonged. Home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! <3


End file.
